Treacherous (Taylor x Fem OC)

37

A/N: AYOO!!!

⚠️PSA BEFORE YOU BEGIN READING: The photos that are down later in the chapter I am in NO WAY stating are real, I would like to once again enforce that I am NOT a gaylor and am NOT demanding that Taylor is gay, this is all for fictional purposes! It is wrong to assume someone's sexuality ALWAYS⚠️

Okay, enjoy

Taylor POV

Dropping my arm down to the side, my eyes blink open when it comes in contact with empty sheets. My mouth pulls down into a vivid frown, glancing around the room in search of a tall Brit, but she's nowhere.

"Wrenley?" I grumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I sit up, looking towards the open bathroom door to see if she's in there, but still nothing.

Huffing, I reach for my phone on the nightstand and open it, going to call Wren until the bedroom door opens and I'm greeted by her chipper little smile.

"Morning, love."

My eyes fall to the tray she has in her hands, two plates of french toast, fruits, and bacon on each, then two glasses of orange juice and cups of coffee.

"I thought you left," I breathe out with a gentle laugh of embarrassment, "What's this?" I ask, sitting up further but groaning as the soreness between my legs shoots stings of pain up my body.

Wren smiles sympathetically and comes closer, sitting beside me on the bed, placing the tray on her lap.

"Figured walking would be an even more difficult feat this morning so, I made us breakfast in bed. You really thought I left?"

The soft light of the Fall filters in through the window, and it's now that I realized Wren must've cleaned up while I was still sleeping. Our clothes from last night are on the floor in front of my dresser in a basket, folded up with a bunch of other clothes I know were in my laundry bin, and the comforter is beside it, folded neatly.

All the toys we used are nowhere to be seen, leaving me to come to the conclusion that they're back in the box on my desk, the little bottle of toy cleaner right next to it.

"I figured you may have had somewhere to be," I state, wincing when I feel a headache coming on, the hangover clearly having taken its sweet time reaching me.

She hums with a gentle smile, cutting the french toast into squares, swirling a piece in the syrup and placing it over her palm as she brings the fork over to my mouth. Gladly, I eat it and moan at the taste, closing my eyes as it satisfies my tastebuds.

"The only place I need to be right now is here with you."

My eyes slide over to her, chest fluttery with warmth and admiration as she goes to get another piece for me. It's like the perfect topping to a sundae dessert, piecing everything together, making it bursting with flavor and delectable portrayal of taste. She always knows the right things to say.

"You're sweet," I say, smiling as she feeds me the next piece, but I eventually take over, urging her to eat hers before it gets cold and we enjoy the meal together, my whole soul jumping for joy at the small but powerful gesture.

Wren knew I'd be more sore in the morning, she knew walking would most likely be difficult, and she brought breakfast to me.

No one has done that before.

Given, I've never had someone do aftercare for me before ever, let alone having it carry into the next morning.

"I should warn you, however, our friends are about to burst in through the front door."