Treacherous (Taylor x Fem OC)

47

A/N: Y'all...this chapter is so fucking long LOL

I wish you luck :)

Enjoy!

Taylor POV

I've watched Wren dress herself then undress herself at least six times already. She's muttering things so low under her breath that the only words I can make out are "bullocks", "bloody hell", "fucking wanker", and "ridiculous."

Normally, I'd laugh, but today is something I can't laugh about. I barely got any sleep last night just thinking about how Wren would be today, and my worries proved me absolutely correct.

Breakfast was dead silent aside from Wren sliding me her phone to show me cute edits our fans have been making of us from the Formula 1 show, Florence's Cooking With Flo video, and even just pap walks.

That seems to be the only thing that has made her smile today, looking at stuff about us and using her secret little lurking account to save them.

We both did that recently, made fake profiles to stalk what our fans are doing. Given, I've done this before, but I always try to make different ones so that no one pins me on it and cracks the code, but this is Wren's first crack at it, and she loves it.

Aside from that, she's been a bundle of nerves.

And right now she is ripping off yet another top and grunting, "Bloody fucking hell, fucking fuck stupid fuck."

"Babe, you'll look great in anything, you don't need to stress." I try to ease her nerves, but it doesn't work in the slightest.

Her eyes are wide as she stares at herself in the mirror, dressed only in a bra and her female boxers now, shaking her head as her fingers brush over some of the scars on her stomach. She turns in the mirror, tracing the ones on her back and once I see the tears welling up, I shoot up to my feet and shuffle over to her quickly, taking her hand that's over the gunshot wound scar on her shoulder blade and replacing her hand with a kiss.

Our eyes meet in the reflection and I watch as she physically deflates but clenches her jaw, tensing up again almost instantly.

There's this look in her eyes, a look I've seen in her plenty of times before, but this time it's much harder, more stale and set in its ways.

Haunted.

"I need you to take a breath for me, please. In and out, okay? Please." I speak calmly, softly, so as not to freak her out or upset her.

She doesn't argue.

After a few deep breaths, I look to the open drawers and hum as I walk over and grab a beige Fleetwood Mac tee and hand it to her, along with the light wash straight leg baggy jeans with the open rips at the knees.

"Put these on." I kiss the side of her head and walk into the closet, smiling to myself when I hear her obliging, pulling the pants on.

I grab the brown and tan shaded plaid hoodie jacket and her eggshell-colored converse and head back out, smiling when I see how good she looks.

Simple, nothing flashy or crazy, just Wren.

"You look beautiful. Here."

She looks at me, then at the jacket and shoes and swallows, breathing out a low chuckle, "What would I do without you?"

"Leave the house half naked?" I try to lighten the mood. And for a moment it works.

She cracks a smile.

A small victory.

But her hands are still shaking as she attempts to tie the laces, so I opt to help her out, my chest tightening when I hear her shaky breaths of frustration.