#Travis Champagne

[badmovieihave]

Bad movie I have All the King’s Man 2006

[cantcatchmeee]

[tylrswfts]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐬 / taylor & travis.

Christmastime was a season well-loved in the Swift household, especially when it came to Taylor herself. A part of her wished the decor never had to come down, that life didn't have to go back to 'business as usual' once the holidays had come and gone. New Year's Eve was on the horizon, which made the ending of things mildly less bittersweet, but there was still a bit of a slump that Taylor found herself in now that the festivities were over. However, leave it to Travis to make every day nothing short of magical -- it was perhaps one of the reasons this holiday season had been so sweet. He'd stopped at nothing to make it one to remember, even if part of had been spent watching him from a box that had become very cozy and special over the past few months. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that something felt a bit off. She couldn't put her finger on what it was, excitedly, but things didn't feel quite as usual. She felt... different. Looking for her phone and finding it shortly thereafter, Taylor called out to Travis from her place in the living room. "What're you thinking for New Years plans, baby? There's the big party in NYC, per usual..." she suggested, chewing a bit nervously on her lower lip. Why was she feeling so odd? "You know I love any excuse to get all dressed up with you," she added with a soft smile. "And, of course, undressed after." @killa--trav

[vrtlworld]

FRIDAY VISUALS

instagram @vrtlworld

[sararufush2021-25]

“What a Shame She’s F* in the Head”

[1991diamondaries]

[wegotobssesions]

[lyekisses]

see you again with wiz khalifa from wwwy night 1

[whatemidoing]

just going from “she would’ve made such a lovely bride, what a shame she’s fucked in the head, they said” to last night

[youngsadlesbian]

THE ONE SHE CHOSE

pairing: taylor swift x reader

summary: what started as a secret turned into heartbreak. but when taylor finally chooses love over fear, will you be able to trust her again?

a/n: my first with taylor x reader in a romantic way. hope u like it <3

word count: 2,5k

warnings: angst but with a happy ending <3

The first time you met Taylor Swift, it was at a high-profile music industry party—one of those events where champagne flowed endlessly, executives laughed a little too loudly, and every conversation felt like a transaction. You had just landed your first major record deal, your name beginning to make its way through the industry like an echo of something promising.

And Taylor? She was already Taylor Swift. The empire. The legend. The woman whose songs had narrated your teenage heartbreaks and dreams in equal measure.

You hadn’t expected to meet her, much less talk to her. But somehow, fate—or maybe just good timing—placed you right beside her at the bar.

She turned her head, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, and smiled. "I don't think we've met yet."

Your throat dried instantly. "Uh—no. I mean, I’d remember if we had."

Her laugh was soft, effortless. "You’re the one everyone’s talking about. The rising star."

You tried to play it cool, shrugging as you picked up your drink. "And you’re the one everyone’s been talking about for, what? Almost two decades now?"

She smirked, swirling the wine in her glass. "Touché."

That night, the two of you talked like old friends. It was easy—too easy. She made you feel like you belonged, like you weren’t just another newcomer struggling to prove your worth. The industry could be ruthless, but in that moment, with Taylor by your side, you almost believed it didn’t have to be.

And so, the friendship began. The kind that was private, stolen between studio sessions and late-night texts.

The kind that turned into something more before you even had the chance to realize it.

It started as an adventure.

The kisses behind closed doors, the whispered secrets in dimly lit hotel rooms. You told yourself it was fine—this was Taylor Swift, and of course, things had to be complicated.

"Just us," she’d murmur against your lips, her hands tangled in your hair. "No cameras, no headlines."

And for a while, you didn’t mind. You were still finding your place in the world, and she was offering you something so intoxicating it felt worth the secrecy.

But then, the contract happened.

You had known about Hollywood relationships being fake before, but when you heard about this one—Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce, the golden couple—your heart clenched in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

At first, you pretended it didn’t bother you.

"He’s just for the public," she told you, lying in your bed after sneaking away from yet another high-profile event with him. "You know that."

And you did. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

Because then came the moments you hadn’t prepared for—watching her hold his hand in public, hearing her gush about him in interviews, seeing her eyes light up for him in a way that looked too real.

The way you had always wished she’d look at you.

The breaking point came on a quiet evening in your apartment. You were supposed to be happy—your album had just gone platinum, your name was no longer just a whisper but a headline of its own.

But all you could think about was Taylor.

About how you had been the one there in the silence, in the moments in between the flashing lights. And yet, she could never claim you the way she claimed him.

When she walked through your door that night, you didn’t even let her speak before saying, "I can’t do this anymore."

Her brows furrowed. "What?"

"This." You gestured between you. "Loving you in the shadows while the world thinks you love someone else."

She stepped closer, panic flashing in her eyes. "You know why I can’t—"

You shook your head. "I did know. And I let myself believe it was enough." You swallowed hard. "But it’s not."

Her hands reached for yours, but you pulled away.

"I wanted to be the person you’d be proud to love in front of the world," you admitted, voice breaking. "But I can’t keep pretending that hiding is the same thing as being loved."

The silence between you was deafening.

And then, barely above a whisper, she said, "I’m sorry."

But "sorry" wasn’t enough to stay.

So you left.

Years passed.

You became someone. The world knew your name, your music, your story. You stood on the biggest stages, your voice echoing in sold-out arenas.

And unlike Taylor, you had made the choice to be open.

You came out, let the world see you for who you were, and never hid the way your heart loved. And the world loved you for it.

Taylor never stopped watching from the sidelines.

She cheered for you in private, liked your posts from a secret account, hummed your songs when no one was listening.

She never stopped wanting you.

And then, one night, she found you again.

At another industry event, just like the first time.

You felt her before you saw her. And when you turned, there she was.

Older. Wiser. Still the most beautiful person you’d ever seen.

"Hey," she said, as if no time had passed at all.

"Hey," you replied, though your heart was hammering in your chest.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

And then, softly, she asked, "Are you happy?"

You hesitated. Because the truth was, you were. You had built a life for yourself, one where you didn’t have to hide, where love wasn’t a secret.

But Taylor had been your great love, your burning red, your almost.

And so you answered honestly. "I am."

She nodded, exhaling. "Good."

You should have left it at that.

But then, before you could stop yourself, you asked, "Are you?"

She looked at you for a long time, as if debating whether to tell the truth.

And finally, she whispered, "I could be."

For a moment, you weren’t sure you had heard her correctly.

"I could be."

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. Because that wasn't a yes, wasn't a declaration of contentment—it was a quiet admission that somewhere along the way, she had lost herself in the life she had chosen.

And then, as if realizing she had said too much, Taylor cleared her throat and offered a small smile. "I, um—I've been keeping up with you."

You raised an eyebrow, attempting to ignore the way your pulse quickened. "Oh?"

"Yeah." She tilted her head, watching you carefully. "You've been doing amazing. Headlining stadiums, breaking records." A pause. "Coming out."

You swallowed. That had been a turning point for you, a choice to live freely, without fear or shame. A choice you had made knowing full well that Taylor could never make the same one.

She shifted on her feet, gaze flickering away before she murmured, "And… dating a certain British pop star?"

Ah. There it was.

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. "Are you fishing for information, Swift?"

She gave you a look, one that was half-amused, half-something else—something unreadable. "Can you blame me?"

You thought about lying. About teasing her, leading her to believe the rumors were true just to see if it would crack that perfectly composed exterior of hers.

But you weren’t that person.

"She’s a friend," you admitted, watching her carefully. "We’ve collaborated, we spend time together, but—" You sighed. "No. I’m not dating her."

Taylor let out a breath, something that sounded dangerously close to relief, but she quickly masked it with a sip of her drink.

Still, you saw it.

You felt it.

"Why do you care?" you asked, keeping your voice soft but steady.

Her fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass. "I don't know."

Liar.

She did know. She knew exactly why she cared.

"Taylor—"

"I shouldn't have let you go."

The words slipped out so quietly, so suddenly, that for a second you thought you had imagined them.

But then she was looking at you, truly looking at you, and you saw it—the weight of all the years, all the regrets.

And just like that, you were twenty-two again, sitting in your apartment with your heart in your hands, listening to her tell you she couldn’t.

Couldn’t love you the way you deserved.

Couldn’t give you a future where you didn’t have to hide.

Couldn’t be brave enough to choose you.

Your throat tightened. "Taylor, don’t do this if you’re not sure."

She stepped closer. "I am sure."

You shook your head, exhaling sharply. "No, you’re not. You weren’t back then, and I can’t—" You swallowed hard. "I can't go through that again. I won't."

Her eyes softened, and this time, when she spoke, it was almost a plea. "I've spent years pretending that I don’t miss you. That I don’t regret every single moment I let you believe you weren’t enough for me."

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the way your heart was screaming at you to believe her.

"Let me prove it to you," she whispered.

You hesitated. Because this—this was everything you had wanted back then.

But was it still what you wanted now?

Could you risk it?

Could you let her back in, knowing what it had cost you the first time?

Taylor reached for your hand, fingers barely brushing against yours.

"You don’t have to decide right now," she murmured. "But if there’s even a part of you that still believes in us, I—" She swallowed. "I won’t hide anymore."

The weight of her words settled between you, heavy and undeniable.

And for the first time in years, you felt something crack open in your chest.

Hope.

Maybe—just maybe—this time, you wouldn’t have to be her secret.

Maybe this time, she would choose you.

You didn't give her an answer that night.

Despite the raw honesty in Taylor's words, the years of unspoken longing, and the way your heart ached to believe her, you weren't ready to just fall back into her arms.

She had to prove it.

And she did.

Slowly. Patiently.

Taylor started texting you again—not in the casual, distant way she had before, but genuinely. She wanted to know how your day was, if you had eaten, what book you were reading. She sent you songs she had been working on, asking for your opinion. It was a small thing, but you knew what it meant coming from her—sharing her work had always been the most intimate way she could express herself.

Still, you kept your distance, only meeting up with her a few times over the next couple of months. And always in private.

Because as much as you wanted to believe she had changed, a part of you still feared history repeating itself.

But then she started doing something different. Something she never would have done back then.

She started mentioning you in interviews.

Nothing obvious at first. Just small things. A passing comment about how talented you were. A story about a song you had written together years ago.

Then, she started going to your shows.

It was discreet at first—backstage visits, sitting in the VIP area with a hoodie pulled over her curls. But the real shift came when she posted about your album.

Not a cryptic like on a tweet. Not an anonymous Spotify playlist addition.

An actual Instagram post.

"This record is magic. I'm so proud of you, always."

The internet exploded.

For the first time, Taylor Swift wasn’t pretending you didn’t exist.

For the first time, she was acknowledging you in a way she never had before.

And you? You felt something shift inside of you.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not yet.

The real turning point came one night in New York.

You were at an awards afterparty, chatting with a few friends, when you felt it—the unmistakable weight of her gaze from across the room.

When you looked up, Taylor was already making her way toward you, completely ignoring the small group of people she had been talking to.

Your heart did that thing again. That stupid, hopeful, aching thing.

But you forced yourself to stay put as she finally stopped in front of you.

"Hey," she said, voice warm but hesitant.

"Hey," you returned, tilting your head. "What are you doing over here? Thought you were busy charming the room."

A small smirk played at her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "I got bored."

"Of them?"

"Of pretending I wanted to be talking to anyone else but you."

Your breath hitched, but you refused to let her see how much those words affected you. "Smooth, Swift."

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. But then her expression softened.

"Come outside with me?" she asked.

You hesitated, but something in her voice, in the quiet please hidden between her words, made you nod.

The air was crisp as the two of you stepped onto the balcony, the city buzzing below. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, Taylor exhaled and turned to you. "I meant what I said."

You looked at her, waiting.

She swallowed. "That I don’t want to pretend anymore. That I want to be with you—for real, this time."

Your chest tightened. "You say that, but—"

"I'm going to tell them," she interrupted, voice firm.

You blinked. "Tell who?"

"Everyone."

It took you a second to process her words. "Taylor—"

"I don’t care what happens. I don’t care about the rumors, or the media, or the backlash. The only thing I care about is you."

Your throat felt tight. "Are you sure?"

She stepped closer, reaching for your hands. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."

And when she looked at you like that, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, you believed her.

Maybe—just maybe—this time, she really had chosen you.

It happened a week later.

It was a random Tuesday, and you were in your apartment when your phone started blowing up.

You frowned, unlocking it, only to see her name trending everywhere.

With shaky fingers, you clicked on the video that everyone was talking about.

It was a clip from an interview. Taylor, sitting across from the host, answering a question about love.

And then, with a soft, almost nervous smile, she said your name.

Out loud.

In front of the whole damn world.

"She’s incredible. One of the most talented, kind, and beautiful people I’ve ever known. And, um—" She laughed, almost to herself, shaking her head. "I guess what I’m trying to say is… I’m very, very in love with her."

You stared at the screen, barely breathing.

Taylor had just confirmed it.

No contracts. No secrecy. No hiding.

She had chosen you.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe—

This was the beginning of something real.

[formulakracing]

celebratory drinks - f.a.

pairing: journalist!reader x aston martin!fernando alonso

word count: 938

warnings: a little bit of cursing, nando being a flirt, alcohol use (the champagne pop), references to alcohol consumption

song inspo for the fic: sky walker (feat. travis scott) by miguel, travis scott (i just think this one is so nando coded)

"there he is," your voice is clear, yet your hand trembles as you grasp the microphone, "i think now is my moment. there's no one else approaching him."

"well what are you waiting for?" camren, your trusty videographer and assistant whispers, "go, go, go get him!"

"okay, okay!" your jaw clenches, the words barely making it out of gritted teeth.

before you stands spanish driver fernando alonso, donned in his signature aston martin fire suit. it's gorgeous emerald hue is darker than usual, dampened by the champagne showers. his dark locks are dripping, sticking to the back of his neck underneath his cap.

yet, he's as gorgeous as ever, stubble ghosting along his jawline, his brows knit in concentration as he speaks with lance stroll, his fellow driver and teammate.

you take a step forward, swallowing the lump in your throat. it was now or never. the perfect window to interview him for only a few minutes before he would be whisked away to the designated media room for the post-race press debrief.

"mr. alonso!" you call, "is it all right if i speak with you for a few minutes? i won't take up too much of your time."

at the sight of you, the corners of his lips curl upward into a radiant grin, "of course! i'm in no rush, actually. you can stall me a little before i have to go debrief."

a giggle bubbles up in your throat as you tap your badge, "although i do have a media badge, i do want let you know that this is going to be a very relaxed, very informal interview. i run a youtube channel that covers all things formula one. we talk a lot about you, actually."

"oh?" he arches a brow, "is that right?"

heat billows into your cheeks as you realize what you just blurted out. in front of one of your idols, no less. yet, you don't sense discomfort from the driver. if anything, he seemed more intrigued, his eyes taking you in as you sucked in a breath.

"well, we're doing a bit about your history with formula one," your voice is tad shaky, but you regain your confidence as he nods enthusiastically, "and of course, we're currently covering your time with aston martin. so, i wanted you to tell me if there was anything unique about your experience with aston martin thus far."

the driver blinks, processing your question for a moment. he brings a hand to his chin, shrugging slightly, "i think i can say that this team has been able to welcome me in with open arms. i'm sure you know that there is a lot of talk in the world of formula one with my age and all that, but they have been nothing but accepting and supportive."

"what has been your favorite moment of the season thus far? anything exciting or funny you'd like to share with us? also, when are you going to bring back that infamous celebratory dance?"

at the mention of the dance, there's a glimmer in his eye, "oh, so you know about that?"

"of course i do," you affirm, "our channel is dedicated to the history of formula one. i'm supposed to know it all, from the historical wins to the celebration dances."

"i can recreate it for you if you would like," he offers, his shoulders relaxing, he points to the camera, earning a laugh from camren, "here, watch this."

he pinches his shoulder blades together, raising his arms so that his elbows and wrists were angled. he sways back and forth, maintaining eye contact with the camera lens.

you can't help but laugh, the sound ringing out, "you're pretty ridiculous, mr. alonso."

"please," fernando waves a hand, "no need for the formalities bullshit. call me fernando."

"all right, fernando," you beam, "well, i think that's all i have for you. i didn't want to keep you for too long. i know you're a busy man."

that's when the driver pauses, taking a second to really look at you. his gaze rakes over your body, his tongue swiping along your lower lip.

for the race, you opted for a comfortable yet sort of glam look. on your top half, you sported a plain black t-shirt, the material a breathable cotton. denim jeans stretched down your legs, a mom-jean like style so that the thick fabric didn't cling to your frame. to compliment the shirt, you wore a black belt, pairing it with black adidas sambas. your hair was pulled into an updo, so that it wouldn't be all over the place or unkempt from the breezy conditions.

"you can come interview me whenever you would like," his tone shifts, his voice a little lower than it was moments before, "actually, how come you didn't question me sooner? i would've loved to see your gorgeous face around the paddock."

"like i said," your heart skips a beat, "you're a busy man, fernando."

"not busy enough for a gorgeous woman like you," he flirts, and you were sure your knees buckled at the statement, "what are you doing later?"

your eyes drift over to camren, who luckily had paused the recording, "i'm not too sure, why?"

"because i would love to take you out and buy you a couple of shots. to celebrate, you know."

"you're the one who was on the podium. if anything, i should be the one buying you shots," you fold your arms across your chest.

"oh no," he shakes his head, "no need."

"and why is that?" your brows furrow.

"because beautiful women don't buy their own drinks."

[tylrswfts]

𝓀𝒶𝓃𝓈𝒶𝓈 𝒸𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓈𝓊𝓃𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑒 | taylor & travis.

whirlwind weeks were nothing new to the blonde, of course, but this one had been a particularly wonderful whirlwind. nearing a week since her album's release and she was still on cloud nine -- floating, freely, with no intent of ever truly coming down as far as she was concerned. it wasn't lost on her that part of what had made this album cycle already so momentous was the muse of two of her most treasured songs on the release and the man who'd taken every curveball that'd been thrown at them in stride. taylor found it hard to imagine that tour would be whisking away her to portugal, and then paris, and then what felt like hundreds of other cities in only a few weeks. it was a thought she didn't think about often, or at least -- she tried not to. but, it was the first thought that snuck into her mind on sleepless nights. it wouldn't change things, of course, but beds would be colder and her heart would ache with an incessant longing. there was no time to fret about that now, though. as the football star had told her so astutely, celebrations were in order -- and like she had said, leave it to kansas city to know how to ring in a big win. she'd found him in the living room of his kansas city abode -- a home that was quickly feeling more like theirs and less like just his -- and snuck up behind him to press a kiss to the warmth of his cheek. "you still haven't really told me what all we're up to this weekend," she whispered coyly, arms wrapping around his neck and dangling loosely against his chest. "i can get down with a good surprise, but i'll be the first to admit that the anticipation is killing me." @killa--trav

[vrtlworld]

Drake - NOKIA

directed by theo skudra

[graci3sb0w]

All yours, baby.

Gracie Abrams x Female Reader Summary : you and Gracie go to Taylors party only for one of Kelce's friend to flirt with you. Let's just say Gracie isn't too happy about it.

Warnings : jealousy, bf Gracie, fluff

Taylor Swift's birthday party was the party of the year, before it even started officially.

Gracie and I stopped in front of my mirror, fussing with our clothes for what felt like the hundredth time. Taylor had sent out invitations with a silent expectation that everyone would be looking their best. I'd wasted twenty minutes debating with myself about whether or not my dress was too much or too little before Gracie cut me down with a blunt, "You look hot. Let's go."

The bows, however, had been her idea.

"Come on, please," she had begged, smiling as she held out the soft silk ribbons she had picked. One in pale blush pink, the other in classic black. "Matching bows, Y/N. It's so us."

I had rolled my eyes, half-exasperated, half-laughing. "Gracie."

She pouted. "Don't be boring. Think about the look."

"You just want an excuse to tie something in my hair."

Her eyes sparkled meanly. "I love to tie things in your hair."

And, since I was a pushover for her (and since she was already leaning in towards my hair), I let her.

We were standing outside now, with our backs to the building, which twinkled with fairy lights and music already pulsating through the walls. A security guard checked our names against the guest list, and then—magically—we were let in.

The party was exactly what I had envisioned: polished but electric, a pack of celebrities mingling, flutes of champagne served by waiters in starched white jackets.

Gracie tugged my hand as we stepped inside. "Let's find Taylor before she gets swept up in the Blake-Selena-Sophie crowd."

"I believe she lives with them now."

We barely had time to take it all in before we heard—

"There you are!"

Taylor suddenly appeared out of thin air, as otherworldly as ever, in some kind of retro-themed, glittery dress. She was cradling a single drink and had an all-out joy look in her eyes as she hugged us both.

"You both look so amazing," she said, stepping back to look at us. And then she caught sight of the bows. She smirked flirtatiously. "Oh my God, matching bows?"

Gracie grinned, pushing hers up like a crown. "So us, then?"

I rolled my eyes. "She forced me."

Taylor tilted her head. "You're playing like she had to fight you. We all know you'd do anything she asks."

I pretended to be shocked. "You betrayed me so fast."

Gracie simply grinned smugly, slipping an arm around my waist. "She knows what's up."

Taylor laughed, shaking her head. "God, you two are disgusting."

A waiter passed by, and Taylor grabbed two champagne glasses from him, handing one to each of us and then lifting hers. "To my birthday," she said, "and to my two favorite lovers in denial."

Gracie gagged on her drink. I nearly spilled mine.

"Taylor!" I hissed, blushing.

She just laughed and walked away, leaving us standing there, shocked.

Gracie was the first to come out of it, elbowing me. "Denial, huh?"

I shook my head. "I hate her."

"You love her."

I sighed, sipping champagne. "Shut up."

The night had gone so smoothly—dancing, laughing, striking a ridiculous number of poses with Taylor, and sitting through Jack Antonoff grumbling about how much he hated getting dressed up.

And then.

He appeared.

Travis Kelce's friend.

Tall. Dumbly arrogant. That kind of charming in an unsubtle fashion that only men who never had to work too hard tend to have.

It started as normal. He came over to greet me, which was okay. But then—he started looking at me like I was the center of attention. Like he cared. (Disgusting)

And that's when Gracie's hold on me subtly clamped down.

He leaned forward, smiling. "So, how do you know Taylor?"

I shifted, aware of Gracie standing by my side. "We met in music. We've known each other for a while."

He nodded, looking impressed. "That's cool. You look cool." His eyes flicked down to my dress. "You look great tonight too."

Gracie's arm around my waist suddenly wasn't resting—it was holding on.

The guy was oblivious. He just grinned at me, all confident. "You know, I was going out, but when I saw you, I'm glad I didn't."

Before I could even think about how to answer, Gracie interrupted.

"She's with me," she said, her voice smooth but unyielding.

The guy blinked, eyes darting back and forth between us. "Oh."

Gracie smiled—sweet, but menacing. "Yeah." She wrapped her hand around my waist, holding tight. "So you can go ahead and try to flirt with someone else."

For an instant, it looked like he was going to slug it out. But then he caught a glimpse in her eyes that led him to do otherwise.

"Uh… yeah, cool. No problem." He grudged an unnatural laugh, nodded, and retreated.

The instant he'd vanished, I looked at Gracie with my brows raised. "That was.. a lot."

She still hadn't let me go. "He was annoying."

I bit my lip, trying not to smile. "You're jealous."

She rolled her eyes. "Wow. Okay. First of all, I am not jealous—"

"You so are."

"I just didn't like the way he was eyeing you up and down. And calling you the prettiest girl here like it was news? Please."

I smiled, a warmth spreading through my chest. "Boyfriend Gracie is kinda hot."

That fazed her. A silence latched onto me before she expelled a dramatic sigh. "Now you're simply attempting to distract me."

I tilted my head, regarding her. "Working?"

She expelled a breath, arms still encircling me. "Maybe."

I moved in, lightly kissing the corner of her jaw, because I could. Because I wanted to, "im yours, baby."

Gracie melted. Fully.

And that's when I realized—

Jealousy did her really, really well.

[psychostxr]

𝐣𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐢 | worth

PAIRING. jordan li x female! reader

WORD COUNT. 1.1k

WARNINGS. angst, cursing, homphobia, insecurities, racism (some are very brief)

NOTES. inspired by @maraschino-ch3rry post about jordan not being marketable

KEYS. (y/n) - your name e.g. paige, sam, etc. (l/n) - last name e.g. cole, thomas, etc.

Fairy lights and flowers decorate the foyer of Godolkin's Student Union as the night of Brink's Memorial Gala unfolds. Your satin dress flows elegantly, hugging and highlighting your figure with a refined slit. Champagne glasses twinkle as they float by on silver trays, a luxury you can't resist. Grabbing a glass of champagne, you take a small sip.

Your eyes wander, tracing the guests who have gathered for the occasion. The guests, staff members, trustees, benefactors, and a few students invited or could afford to buy tickets are here to 'support' Godolkin University. As for you, you're here to support your partner, Jordan, and find trustees willing to vote for them.

When you finally spot Jordan entering the foyer, your heart pounds against your ribcage at the sight of them. Jordan looks hot in their black suit, and the half-pearl half-chain necklace adds to their charm. However, Jordan's expression doesn't match the mood of the event. They're frowning.

You wonder why until you see their parents trailing right after them. Downing the rest of the champagne, you place the glass on a nearby waiter's tray and scurry over to Jordan, careful not to trip over your heels or dress.

"Jordan!" You grin, pulling them into a hug. Their arms wrap around your waist as your lips kiss their cheek before grazing their ear to whisper, "Stop frowning. You're too attractive in that suit to be sad."

Jordan chuckles, a smile cracking across their face. "Thank you," they murmur, kissing your cheek in return. 

Jordan takes a step back, revealing his parents behind them. You plaster on a fake smile towards Jordan's parents.

"(y/n), meet my parents, Paul, and Kayla Li. Dad, mom, this is (y/n)." Jordan pauses, gulping. "My girlfriend."

"Hi, it's so nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Li," you say, offering your hand to shake.

Jordan's parents glance at each other, almost like they're communicating telepathically. Then, both of their lips quirked upwards. Paul chuckles, reaching out and eagerly shaking your hand.

"You have a girlfriend?" he questions, "Why didn't you tell us?"

Before Jordan can come up with an answer, you interrupt, "I'm sorry, that was my idea." You pull your hand away and rest it on your décolletage. "I didn't want Jordan to tell anyone. I'm a very private person."

"That's okay, dear," Kayla reassures. "We're just happy that Jordan's found someone is all."

"Well, it was nice meeting you both," you say, catching Jordan's parents' attention, "But Jordan and I have duties to attend to tonight." Like schmoozing trustees and securing votes for Jordan. "I hope to see you again soon."

Hooking an arm around Jordan's, you guide them away from their parents and towards the influential guests at tonight's gala.

"Private person, my ass," Jordan remarks once you both are far away from their parents. "One search of you on Instagram and pictures of me flood the app."

"You love it," you quip, unhooking your arm to hold Jordan's hand. "People know we're together, so they can't try shit when you're not around. Unless they want to get their ass kicked."

"You can't blame me. I don't like to share."

Rolling your eyes, you stop in your tracks, causing Jordan to halt.

"Earlier, before you arrived, I was scouring the guests, and I think a few people here would vote for you with enough persuasion. We just need to show them the marketable side of you." You gesture to a man nearby drinking champagne. "That's Daniel Travis, one of the trustees for Godolkin. We can start with him and work our way with the others."

Pulling Jordan, you walk towards Daniel Travis and put a smile on your face. "Mr Travis, I'm (y/n) (l/n), and this is my partner, Jordan Li. Could you spare a few minutes to talk with us?"

He lowers his glass. "Of course. What would you two like to talk about?"

"Well, as we know, trustees decide the rankings. And during the incident with Golden Boy, Jordan went down in rankings. We wondering if you'd like to vote for Jordan," you explain.

"I don't like to ring my own bell, but I am putting up the best stats of anyone here in forensics and combat," Jordan adds, "And to be honest, I'd love your vote."

"I've looked at your Q Rating, Name Recognition, and Social Trending, Jordan. They're down, and it's no secret," Daniel states bluntly, "Frankly, being bi-gender and Asian won't appeal to certain audiences in America, so, in terms of marketability, you're not in the best position."

Jordan's face falls at Daniel's harsh assessment. It's a tough pill to swallow. Daniel shifts his attention to you.

"But you (y/n)?" he says, "Your ratings are through the roof, and your control over your powers is remarkable! You're a marketable asset. But, you see, you could achieve even more if you broke up with Jordan."

The suggestion hangs in the air, a poisonous idea souring the elegance of the gala. Jordan feels a surge of anger and frustration at Daniel's audacity while you're shocked by his proposal.

You squeeze Jordan's hand, hoping to give them peace of mind while you resist the urge to use your powers and toss Daniel into a wall. Your eyes flash with a mix of anger and disgust.

"You must be out of your mind to think I'd ever let someone like you dictate my relationship," you retort sharply, "Now if you have nothing important to say, we're leaving."

With that, you lead Jordan away from the conversation, finding a quiet corner of the gala to catch your and Jordan's breath and collect your thoughts.

You knew that success could come at a cost, but compromising your relationship with Jordan wasn't a price you were willing to pay. Wrapping your arms around Jordan, you pull them into your embrace and kiss their temple. 

"Jordan, I'm so fucking sorry," you apologize softly, "I should've dug for more information on Godolkin's trustees before making any moves. I didn't expect that from Daniel."

Jordan sighs, resting their head on your shoulder. "It's not your fault, (y/n). But Daniel's got a point. My numbers are down. Nobody wants to see a bi-gender Asian Supe. Your numbers would be higher if we weren't together."

You shake your head, holding them tighter. "Jordan, don't listen to him. I love you with every fiber of my being. No marketing scheme or student ranking is worth more than my love for you. I don't care about the numbers. I care about you." You tilt their chin up, looking deeply into their eyes. "You are more than any label or statistic. I love you for who you are. Don't let anyone make you question your worth or our love. Because if anyone thinks otherwise, they can fuck off."

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