Chapter Text
It had been a mistake to invite her back for a second weekend; Taylor knew that now. A mistake to stay up watching her sleep. A mistake to entertain the hope that it could be real, that it could work. There was a reason she got new girls in each city, or at least girls who knew their way around the industry. Eat to live. You don’t buy the restaurant just because you liked your dinner.
But she did invite her back, and what should’ve been a quick bite and fuck before a show spiraled into a constant craving for something and someone Taylor can’t have. Because she let her go.
She could’ve made her stay, of course. She could influence a girl’s mind and keep her around as long as she wanted, if she wanted to. But Taylor knew better than to get attached to the girls she bit, especially on tour. It could only end one of two ways: they left or they were drained dry. It was better to stick to the so-called ‘trusted donors’ (usually vampire-obsessed fetishists, and not Taylor’s preference) or one-and-done girls who’d have a good time – fuck, suck, and forget. And that had worked for years. She’d survived multiple world tours doing the usual routine. So why did she disrupt the routine?
It had been a mistake to invite her back for a second weekend because now she misses the voice in her head that kept waking her up in the morning, misses the girl who got her jokes and made fun of her for them, misses the taste of summer storms and wildflowers. Taylor misses her, and it sucks.
And really, Taylor should’ve known she was getting in too deep. There were plenty of signs along the way that screamed DANGER AHEAD. RISK OF FALLING. The universe had tried to warn her, and the memories of those warnings jumbled noisily around in her head.
There was the way she felt like she needed to come up with new jokes just to see her roll her eyes. The possessiveness Taylor felt when the bite marks she left were visible on her skin.
“No, I don’t mind. It should heal soon, anyway.”
The way she didn’t mind if people saw the bite marks Taylor left on her skin. The way Taylor wanted people to see them. The quiet desire Taylor tried to ignore, and when it became impossible to ignore, to deny: a voice in her head that said 'I want to wake up every morning and make her mine. I want the world to know she's mine.'
“Do you ever let someone take care of you? Let me take care of you.”
The way she had seemed to have known Taylor didn't often let people take care of her, and the way she asked if she could. The way Taylor could’ve cried right then and there if not for her years of experience hiding tears, because people so rarely asked if they could.
“I need you to bite me.”
How Taylor’s breath had caught and knees had almost given out as she’d begged to be bitten in the shower, and how her heart had skipped a beat when she had offered, even wanted, to be bitten later in bed that night. The way Taylor’s heart twisted when she recognized the unspoken thoughts behind the offer – her need to feel it one last time.
“Did you think I didn’t notice you taking those photos yesterday?”
The thrill Taylor got receiving those photos of her at the spa and later in bed right before she took the stage. The need to get back to the hotel as soon as possible to see her again in person and show proper appreciation for the photos.
“So what will you do next weekend? Is there some kind of blood hotline? 1-800-Dial-A-Donor?”
The dread when she asked what Taylor would do for blood before the next show. Without her. With some new girl. The way Taylor wanted it to be her in spite of history, experience, anxiety, and tradition telling her it was a terrible idea.
“I don’t know.”
The way Taylor’s heart broke when—
“It’s okay Taylor, I’m a big girl. I know what this is.”
Well, by then it was far too late. She’d fucked around and ignored a million signs along the way. She fell off the cliff and found out why there were warning signs all the way down.
She remembered their last night together. It had been a restless one for Taylor. She thought about their fight (was it a fight?), about what they’d said out loud (too much and not enough), about the unspoken thoughts Taylor could hear loud and clear (and frustratingly still didn’t fully understand why), about what she wanted (everything), the ways it could work and why it probably wouldn’t.
Taylor’s racing thoughts and anxiety hadn't been loud enough to drown out the sound of tears falling on the pillow next to hers. And when those shaky breaths and sniffles finally gave way to the steady, rhythmic breathing of slumber, Taylor watched her sleep.
Taylor wasn’t sure how long she watched her sleep, but when the first light of dawn peeked through the windows, she figured it might be time to stop. She grabbed her phone off the nightstand to check texts and emails that had inevitably trickled in overnight. She scrolled through texts from friends who had been at the show, emails from the merch team about production lead times for the next drop, and some summaries of media coverage, eventually landing on an urgent email from Tree.
❗ Marked as Important at 1:37 AM
From: Tree Paine <[email protected]>
To: TAS (Internal) <[email protected]>
Subject: FWD: Image Rights Acquired (Getty)
Good morning,
The shows were great this weekend! Very positive coverage, and the TN team reported higher than average fan engagement across social channels. Summaries should be in your inbox.
Professional photos from this weekend’s shows to use for your social posts are available in this dropbox. If you want the team to handle posting, please send over the copy and photo selections ASAP.
I took the liberty of acquiring full rights to several of the Midnights set photos as they were potentially a bit more revealing than we’d like in ultra-high resolution. Those photos are available for your review in a separate cloud drive. They will not be available for release or purchase by any other entity. See email chain with legal below for details on the transaction and media rights.
I would recommend not wearing that bodysuit again, at least until additional alterations can be made. I have not seen it take off online yet, so it might have been subtle enough to not get picked up on cell phone cameras. The fans may also be too distracted by speculation over what they’re calling a hickey to have noticed anything else. I will let you know if that changes.
Call if you have any questions. See you at the airport.
Tree
Taylor sighed heavily in the still-dawning light of day. Fuck. Of course fans had seen the mark she’d left on her neck that morning. Of course they were talking about it online. Of course they were bound to see the alterations and additions to the bodysuit. What had she said last night? Then let them see it. Well, they had. It was reckless. It wasn’t like her. She was getting too caught up, too lost in lust, too fucking stupid .
As her anxiety ratcheted up, so did the self-loathing. This is why you don’t invite girls back for seconds. It was stupid to think this could ever work. Because really, how could it? It never had, and it never would.
Taylor needed to get up, to move, to do something. She tiptoed out of bed to the main living area of the hotel suite and stared out the window as the city woke up below. Stared into the sunrise until she couldn’t anymore. She needed to move anyway. So she grabbed a robe and she paced.
Well I can’t just quit my job and wait around for you to summon me whenever you’re thirsty.
She was right, she couldn’t quit her job and follow the tour around the world. She couldn’t follow Taylor around like a walking blood bag. And she would, Taylor knew that. She heard snippets of her inner thoughts, even when she tried not to listen. She’d throw her whole life away for this, for a connection Taylor didn’t even understand. And really, neither of them could ever be sure their connection was real. Was it all vampire bullshit, just a consequence of Taylor’s natural ability to attract and control her prey? Probably. Give her a few days of time and distance and the attraction would wear off. She’d never think about Taylor again.
Taylor couldn’t encourage her. Couldn’t allow it. It would just end up ruining her life. It was for the best for everyone if she let her go. So that’s what she would do.
She moved through the rest of her morning routine in a daze, lost in her thoughts, going through the motions, shuffling around the bathroom as quietly as possible, until she was startled out of it while brushing her teeth.
“Hi. Good morning.”
She was finally awake. God, she was gorgeous. This was going to suck, but Taylor knew what she had to do. She couldn’t encourage her to ruin her life. Couldn’t give her the chance. She didn’t know what she was getting into. This life would chew her up.
“Morning,” Taylor said, too caught up in her thoughts to even take the toothbrush out of her mouth, and watched her walk away.
This was what she had to do. It was for the best for everyone. It would hurt, Taylor thought as she packed her suitcases, but it would hurt less now than it would later when it all inevitably fell apart. Better to get out now while they’d both survive it.
Taylor did one last scan of the hotel room to make sure she wasn’t leaving anything behind (the songwriter part of her brain kept screaming that she was leaving her heart behind, but she told the songwriter to shut the fuck up just this once, just for a little while) and spotted the dark blue bodysuit that ruined everything, tossed aside to the corner of the room after– oh god, I’m gonna come, come with me Taylor, please —
No, absolutely not. Taylor couldn’t think about those words or the way she had sounded when she said them. And she definitely couldn’t think about how she looked as she said them. Taylor might do something stupid if she let herself think those thoughts, especially when the woman who’d moaned them beneath her was only a few feet away, packing her bags. No, too dangerous. Taylor grabbed the bodysuit off the floor and shoved it deep into her suitcase. She wasn’t sure if she could ever wear it again.
They both continued packing in awkward silence until time, eventually, cruelly, mercifully ran out.
“So I guess this is goodbye?”
God, it really was. Taylor inhaled, pulling back the tears that threatened to fall. “I guess so.” The sound of her suitcase wheels on the tile floor were like nails on a chalkboard. “Drive safe. Keep in touch.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Taylor knew she wouldn’t keep in touch. Couldn’t for the sake of her own sanity and resolve. This was for the best, but Taylor couldn’t quite stop herself from dragging it out. Maybe she was selfish, but she had so much more she wanted to say. “And thank you.”
“Thank you for what?”
“For staying. For letting me,” Taylor couldn’t even bring herself to say the words. If she said them out loud she’d only want it more, and her resolve would falter, and everything would go to shit. ”You know.”
A smile, a nod of acknowledgement. It was more than Taylor thought she deserved, but she wanted to remember that smile forever.
The universe had one last dagger to twist, though. “Am I going to remember all this?”
She asks the question like she thinks Taylor might make her forget, and it’s like a bucket of ice water to the face. But she’s right to ask, because at the end of the day, that’s who she really is: a bloodsucking vampire who uses girls for sex and blood then makes them forget. Taylor would ruin her life if she let herself, but she still can’t bring herself to make her forget. Maybe she would on her own though, in time. Maybe that would be for the best.
“I really hope so.”
“Me too.” She was really leaving. Let her go, Taylor. “Bye, Taylor.”
And that was it. She was gone. That was the end. Taylor whispered a soft goodbye, not even sure if she heard it. It was probably better that she didn’t. It could never work. She needed to shut the door. So she did. It was time for the storyteller to wrap this story up. The End.
That was weeks ago, and Taylor needed to find a way to move on from the girl whose name and taste she was still trying desperately to forget. She needed to forget for her own sanity’s sake, if she was being honest, but couldn’t seem to outrun the memories.
If she couldn’t outrun them, maybe she could drown them in blood. So Taylor drinks to forget. She finds new girls. She starts with Chloe.
Chloe is starstruck. Chloe just went through a breakup. Chloe is an easy meal.
They pulled Chloe from one of the lists Taylor Nation maintained. There were several. Taylor thinks Chloe must be from the list of fans who openly talked about how much they wanted to fuck her on social media. Girls who would be too excited about a chance to meet Taylor backstage and too caught up in the idea of fucking (or getting fucked by) Taylor Swift to say anything but yes to everything else. She needs the yes.
“And she just left me,” Chloe sniffles on the small couch next to Taylor in the privacy of the dressing room. “She actually was supposed to come with me tonight. I bought the ticket for her.” Chloe’s voice quivers. Taylor needs to salvage this situation quickly. Crying never tasted good.
“She left a gorgeous girl like you?” Taylor places her hand on Chloe’s bare thigh. She’s wearing some kind of costume. Taylor thinks it might be a reference to Wonderland, and the skirt is wonderfully short. “She must have gone mad.”
Chloe doesn’t catch Taylor’s stupid joke. She would have gotten it (and probably teased her about how corny it was) but Taylor isn’t thinking about her, because she’s not here and she never will be again. She’s gone. Move on.
“You think I’m gorgeous?” Chloe’s sniffles subside, and her breath hitches for a different reason as Taylor’s hand strokes softly along her thigh. They’d already been talking about Chloe’s breakup for about ten minutes. Taylor had a show to do. Time to seal the deal. Time to turn on the vampire charm.
“Of course, Chloe,” Taylor shifts to face the girl and her hand drifts to Chloe’s inner thigh, exploring higher from there. “You’re just…” She deploys a strategic flutter of her eyelashes, a soft and adoring sigh. “Yeah, you’re gorgeous. Can I show you how beautiful you are?”
“Show me?” Chloe’s voice is shaky, and from what Taylor can hear rattling around in her brain, it’s a mix of nervous energy and excitement over what the hand on her thigh and the compliments might mean. It’s a good sign for Taylor.
Taylor takes Chloe’s hand and leads her to the full-length mirror she has in her dressing room at each venue, positioning the girl in front of it so she can see herself. Taylor stands behind her, body pressed against hers, and looks at her in the mirror over her shoulder. This is a tried and true routine. “You don’t see how gorgeous you are? Look at you.”
“Oh,” Chloe is startled but flattered. Progress. “Um, thank you. You’re really pretty too. Like, so pretty I don’t really know what to do right now. Honestly you’re like the prettiest—”
“So gorgeous that I want to kiss you.” Taylor has to cut her off. There’s no time for rambling flattery after how much time they wasted talking about Chloe’s breakup. She’s a girl’s girl, but she’s also hungry and on a tight schedule. “Can I?”
“Oh! Oh wow. Um, yes.”
Taylor slides a hand onto Chloe’s hip to turn her around so they’re facing each other. Taylor planned on taking this meal on the vanity just behind Chloe; in fact, she’d cleared it off earlier just for the occasion. So she kisses Chloe and pushes her back toward the vanity, and Chloe kisses her back with nervous excitement until she collides with it.
“Oh!” Chloe looks behind her nervously, worried she’s broken some million dollar bottle of perfume or something. Taylor knows better by now than to leave nice things out when she has a guest over for dinner. Taylor presses her hips into the girl, pinning her to the little table, hoping she’ll get the message and hop up to sit on it. She eventually does, and Taylor uses the new angle and height difference to her advantage, pressing herself between the girl’s legs and trailing kisses down her neck.
“I want to touch you, Chloe.” Taylor whispers and does her best stage seduction routine, looking up at her through lashes thick with mascara. It’s a look she’ll give a dozen fans with a dozen cell phone cameras over the next few hours, if only this girl would just say yes already so she can get on with the show. She drags a hand up under Chloe’s skirt to the apex of her thighs, hoping to seal the deal.
“Oh wow, yes, okay,” Chloe agrees. Success. Taylor slips her hand between the cotton of Chloe’s panties and her cunt, and tries to get the girl off as quickly as possible. There isn’t time for dragging things out after all the breakup crying, and Taylor’s hungry. Chloe’s easy though – Taylor’s expert fingers have her teetering on the edge of a quick and dirty orgasm in no time.
“Oh my god, Taylor, oh god, I’m gonna–” Chloe loses herself and her words as she comes. Taylor guides her through it, her hand still working between the girl’s legs, preparing her meal. They really do taste better once they’ve come, but it’s a bit more work. Taylor’s never shied away from hard work.
“I need you to taste you, Chloe. Can I?” Taylor simpers at the shell of her ear as Chloe rides out the last waves of her orgasm, then waits impatiently as Chloe processes what’s happening. Finally, she catches up.
“Yes?” Chloe babbles out breathlessly, still coming down and a bit confused by the question. Still, she’s not going to say no to Taylor Swift. “Yeah, fuck yes.” Taylor isn’t sure if Chloe fully comprehends what she’s agreeing to at this point. She bites her anyway. An invitation is an invitation, and a girl’s gotta eat.
She tastes like type O positive and the cloying sweetness of too many Christmas cookies. She’s had hundreds of girls like Chloe. She could have a hundred more if she wanted, but she doesn’t. Taylor still wants a girl she can’t have, because she let her go.
Once Taylor’s had her fill of Chloe, she sets the stunned girl on the couch to recover like she always does, gives her the standard spiel like she always does – leave when you’re ready and forget, or stay and have some more fun later. Taylor doesn’t mention that the forgetting part will happen either way; she almost never does.
Taylor leaves Chloe to heal up and make her decision. She has a show to perform for tens of thousands of screaming girls just like Chloe. And she kills it up there, of course. She always does.
Chloe doesn’t stay. They never do. Well, almost never.
She’ll go home and continue on with her life, get over her breakup, and tell her friends about having the time of her life at a concert she barely remembers. She’ll attribute it to what people on social media have been calling ‘post-concert amnesia’ lately. It’s probably for the best.
Taylor doesn’t want another night with another Chloe, but she tries more nights with more Chloes anyway, because she’s desperate to forget. The hollow encounters don’t help her forget who she really wants. She wants what she can’t have or she wants to forget. Neither is happening, and it’s becoming a problem.