#fic: paper rings | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brewsterispunkk · 2 years ago

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sunshine state

PART ELEVEN: PAPER RINGS

pairing: benny miller x reader, benny miller x f!reader

WC: 3.6k

summary: things are revealed, a resolution is met.

warnings: abuse (physical, emotional), angry benny, idiots in love, they finally communicate

A/N: here it is. the last chapter. only the epilogue after this. I love you if you’ve stuck around this long.

PART ELEVEN: PAPER RINGS

The ride home was uneventful, blessedly. But, more than that, it was normal.

:readmore:

Normal, as in, it was as if the outburst you’d had the night before never happened. As if Benny hadn’t practically told you he’d be there come hell or high water. As if the whole trip hadn’t happened and you were back to being just friends—no strings attached, no baggage.

And you finally felt like you could breathe.

He made fun of your music taste, and you played backseat driver. He pretended to be annoyed at your feet on the dash and you pretended not to know that he was full of shit.

You were back to your old dance—casual touches and loaded words.

It was as if nothing happened. And, though it was more nerve-wracking than before, it was better than revealing your emotions and losing him.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

- - -

The knock came a week later.

It’s been a week of torture on your part.

You’d finally had enough time to begin to process all that had happened between you and Benny at you parents’ house and in the days before, and you were nowhere near the end of understanding it all.

What you did know was this: You were in love with Benny.

He’d swirled into your life like a loud, blond tornado and you dreaded the day that he left, and the rubble he’d leave in his wake.

You’d gone back to work, inevitably, and when you weren’t dealing with obnoxious children on field trips to the museum, you were thinking about him.

What he was doing, what he was thinking, how he was feeling—it was like that past weeks had flipped a switch in your mind, and all you could think about was Benny.

And what was even more frustrating, Benny continued on as if nothing had changed. Which, you supposed, nothing had.

You wondered how long it would take for things to disintegrate.

Your answer came in a knock on Benny’s apartment door near midnight.

It was movie night—the first one since you and Benny slept together—and it was your turn to choose. You’d made it about a quarter of the way through Evil Dead when the knock caused you to jump.

“Jesus!” Benny jumped beside you.

It had been at a quiet part in the film, and you were both at the edge of your seat.

“Are you expecting somebody?” You asked confusedly.

You couldn’t imagine who it could be; Frankie and Mari had the baby, and Santi and Everett were on a weekend getaway.

“No,” Benny furrowed his eyebrows and stood up. “Who the hell could that be?”

You turned to face the door from where you were sitting on the couch as Benny made his was over tentatively.

“Ben,” you called, standing up as well and walking to the coat closet. “You want the bat?”

It was better to be safe than sorry in your book.

Benny nodded, and you reached to the back corener of the closet where you knew Benny kept the beat-up, metal baseball bat.

“Here,” you said.

Benny grabbed it and approached the door, peeking through the keyhole. He stilled, before sighing.

“Jesus,” he sighed, before opening the door. “The hell are you doing here, man?”

It was Will.

Will, with his hair messier than you’d ever seen it. Will, with a trashbag slung over his shoulder. Will, with his hoodie soaked through with rain from the December downpour outside. Will, with his eyes bloodshot. Will, with a cut above his eyebrow. Will, with a red cheek and a dark bruise forming around his eye.

You stopped in your tracks, and you saw as Benny’s shoulders stiffen as he took his older brother in.

“Shit, Will.” His voice was soft as he barrelled toward his brother, wrapping him in his arms.

One of Benny’s hands snaked to the back of Will’s head and the other wrapped around his middle. Will sniffed, before shuddering and practically collapsing into his little brother’s arms.

Benny pulled him inside and kicked the door shut behind him.

“It’s okay,” he said into Will’s shoulder. “It’s okay, man. You’re safe.”

Will sobbed into Benny’s shoulder and dropped the trash bag at his feet. He clutched at Benny’s shoulders.

“Shh, shh.” Benny looked at you worriedly over Will’s shoulder. “Let it out, just breathe man.”

You grabbed Will’s bag to set it on the kitchen counter, before making your way to the kettle and turning it on. Blessedly, Benny still had the lavender tea that Will liked in his coffee-drawer.

Benny led Will over to the couch.

“C’mon, man. Sit down, catch your breath.”

Will slumped on the couch, his head in his hands and cried.

It was sobering for you. Not because he was a man crying—you couldn’t give less of a shit about that—but because it was Will crying.

He’d always been a fortress, a mystery, a brick wall. The only times you’d seen Will’s armor crack was that night at Frankie’s.

Now, the armor wasn’t cracked, it was gone. And you felt your heart break. All the hurt and pain and anger that you still held for him faded away once you saw him there.

Benny sat down next to him and put his hand on Will’s trembling shoulder and rubbed up and down as he wept.

“It’s okay, It’s okay,” he cooed. “You’re safe. You’re safe, man.”

“I’m sorry,” Will’s voice was gravelly, like he’d been yelling or crying or both.

“It’s not your fault. Don’t apologize. Take it easy.”

You had never seen Benny more careful, more calm. Like he was trying to talk down a spooked horse.

“I just,” Will said, before taking a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was more level. “She kicked me out. I didn’t know where to go.”

“She kicked you out?” Benny asked, voice soft and wary.

“Yeah.” Will swallowed.

“And did she give you that bruise on your eye too?” Benny’s voice was careful.

Will nodded.

“I’ll kill her,” you said, and Benny’s head snapped to you.

“Not if I get to her first,” he added.

Will half-laughed and shook his head before letting his head drop to his hands again.

“Yeah, I,” his voice was strained. “I’m not goin’ back. I’m done. I’m just done.”

“Okay,” Benny said resolutely. “Okay. You can stay here. Or, if you’d be more comfortable somewhere else, we can talk to Fish or—”

“Jesus, Ben. You’re my brother.” Will shook his head, teary eyes turning to Benny.

“Yeah, well.”

“Ben, I’m so sorry,” Will’s voice warbled so much that you yourself teared up. “I just—I don’t know what I was thinking. I was in so deep and she was so angry and—”

“Will, you don’t have to—”

“I never should have said that,” Will continued, sniffing. “I should have never,” he stopped himself before shaking his head.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said with a level voice.

“I forgive you, man.” Benny said, hugging his brother.

“I’m sorry, smalls.” Will looked to you over Benny’s shoulder.

You smiled at him through watery eyes.

“It’s okay, Will. Water under the bridge.”

A part of you beamed at the nickname. He hadn’t called you that in months, hell he hadn’t called you anything in months.

A different part of you was validated at the reveal of Anna’s abuse. You’d always wondered; Will’s sheepishness, aloofness—it added up now. Your heart clenched as you wondered how long it had been going on. As far as you knew, Will and Anna had been together for years. How long had he been treated like this?

“It’s not,” he cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean it. If anything, I was projecting.”

You sighed.

“Will. It’s over, I forgive you.”

He nodded and opened his mouth to continue, but a sharp hiss cut him off. Behind you, in the kitchen, steam rushed out of the kettle.

“Here, I made tea.” You said, rushing to the cup you prepared.

You poured two cups, knowing Benny hates tea, and walked over to the couch, steaming tea in either hand.

You handed Will his tea and sat down on the chair beside the couch with your own.

“Will,” Benny said after a moment of silence. “How long has this been going on?”

Will swallowed, looking down at his tea.

“Uhm,” he ground out. “I don’t exactly know.”

You’d never seen him more uncomfortable. His shoulders were tense and he wouldn’t meet your eye.

“Has she hit you before?”

Will flinched at Benny's wording.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Never so severely, though. She slapped me a couple months ago and that was the first time.”

“Okay…” you leaned forward. “And did it escalate from there?”

“‘Course it did,” Benny interrupted. “Been around military men enough to know how this goes.”

“Ben,” you interrupted him softly.

His tone was impatient. Upset. You understood the sentiment—you were upset too—but addressing it so callously was something Will didn’t need.

“Sorry,” he said, before turning to Will, who was sipping his tea. He looked more relaxed already.

“When did it get worse?”

“Uh,” Will sighed. “About a month ago she threw a punch at me. I blocked it easily, but, uhm. You don’t always see that coming, yaknow?”

His voice sounded small again.

“Then?” Benny pushed gently.

You knew he didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, but you needed to get the full story. You needed to know if he wanted to press charges. Still, it may have been too much at once.

“We don’t have to do this now, Will,” you said. “We can talk in the morning.”

“No, it’s fine,” he sniffed and sat up a bit straighter. “Let’s just get it over with.”

“Okay,” you nodded. “Then what happened.”

“She started throwing things. Plates, cups, a few knives. She pushed me a few times.”

“Did she tell you not to talk to us?” Benny asked flatly, emotionlessly.

You didn’t like the darkness in his tone.

“Yeah,” Will leaned forward on his knees. “Said she’d leave me if I did. Or if I went back to the VA.”

Benny swore under his breath.

“What happened tonight?” You asked. Will sighed.

“She threw a bottle. Hit me in the temple, by my eye.”

“Jesus,” Benny said. “Was this before or after she slapped you?”

“After.” Will’s voice was small.

Benny stood up suddenly, standing in front of Will.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell us?” He burst, voice louder than it should’ve been. It was teeming with anger.

“Benny!” You scolded him.

“No!” He turned to you. “Why didn’t you tell me?! I’m your brother!”

“Exactly!” Will stood up now, toe-to-toe with his brother. “The hell did you want me to do?”

“Talk to me!” Benny threw his arms up. “We’re blood!”

“How the hell could I come to you with that?!” Will shook his head.

“With words!” Benny’s voice was edging on frantic. “I’ve been right here! This whole time! You should have told me!”

“Ben!”

You interrupted, jumping up and grabbing his arm. He was getting too worked up. You didn’t need a repeat of the last time the Miller brothers had an argument.

“You need to calm down or walk away,” you said, voice even.

Benny held eyes with Will before turning to you. He was stewing. You could see it in his eyes. You raised an eyebrow, annoyed. You would not be dealing with Benny Miller’s antics tonight.

“Okay?”

Benny huffed.

“I need a drink.”

As he walked over to the fridge for a beer, you rubbed your eyes. Then, Will snorted.

“Exactly,” he mumbled.

“What?” Benny asked from the kitchen, sipping his beer.

“You had her, Ben. That’s why.”

You stopped in your tracks.

What?

“The hell do you mean, I had her?” Benny’s eyes were wide and incredulous.

“You had her. You were happy, Ben. Finally. I wasn’t about to get in the way of that.”

“Fucking Christ! You could never get in the way of my happiness!” Benny burst, voice strained.

He looked like he was about to cry, the emotions were so clear on his face. It was Benny’s best and worst trait—he wore his emotions on his sleeve.

“Besides,” he lamely added. “Nothing ever comes before you. Next time, when you need me, call me. I’ll be there.”

“Yeah right,” Will chuckled. “I didn’t want my issues coming between you and your lady.”

“My—Will,” Benny sighed. “She’s my best friend. That’s it.”

Your heart dropped, and all of a sudden you felt like you were intruding. Like this conversation wasn’t meant for your ears. You sunk into your chair.

“Okay, Ben.” Will rubbed his eyes, blinking rapidly. “Sure, she is. I just–I’d like to go to bed. I’m dead on my feet and I don’t want to fight with you.”

Benny sighed.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, you’re right.”

There was a moment of silence before Will sighed.

“C’mere,” he reached out and embraced Benny.

Benny relaxed into the hug, burying his head into Will’s shoulder as if he were a child again. When he pulled back, he patted Will’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry about bringing you into this,” Will said. “Both of you.”

You shook your head, still stung by what Benny said, but even more so: at a loss for words at what Will had just told you.

“Shut up, man.” Benny said. “If you ever pull shit like that again, I’ll kill you.”

“Yeah, okay.” Will chuckled. “I got the couch.”

“Nah, man. Take the bed.”

“No—”

“I won’t be sleeping tonight anyway.” Benny said, eyeing the rain outside.

A look of realization crossed Will's face.

“Thanks, man. I—just, thanks.”

“Go sleep, asshole.” Benny said with affection. “You can shower too, if you want.”

“Okay.”

As Will went back to the bedroom, you and Benny were left in silence.

He threw his head back against the back of the couch and sighed.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” you added. “Do you think he’ll press charges?”

“I don’t know,” Benny sounded tired. “Knowing him, he’ll want to bury it. Pretend it never happened.”

“We can’t let him.”

“I know,” Benny nodded. “He wouldn’t survive it. I’ll take him to the VA in the morning. We’ll figure it out from there.”

You nodded.

You looked at your phone, searching for the time.

1:30, it read.

You hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. The storm outside was still raging, and this was no summer rain—this was torrential, and freezing. You shivered just thinking about walking the block and a half back to your own apartment. Still, sitting in silence with Benny like this was torture.

You felt useless. You wanted to tell him so much, and now was neither the time nor the place.

Besides, this was a family issue, and you didn’t want to fuck it up like you had in the first place.

You felt like you’d caused this problem, you didn’t need to add to it.

“I think I should head out.” You broke the silence.

“You sure?” Benny’s head snapped to you before looking out the window. “It’s pretty bad out there.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I don’t need to be in your hair.”

“You're not–”

“You’ve got your brother. I don’t wanna complicate it.”

You didn’t look at him, but you could hear the confusion in his voice when he spoke next.

“Okay,” he sounded unsure. “At least let me drive you, though. It’s raining cats and dogs.”

You nodded, knowing that he wouldn’t take no for an answer, and reached for your bag.

As you heard his keys jingle on the way out, you wondered if this would be your last time leaving his apartment.

- - - -

He insisted on walking you up—no matter how many times you told him it was unnecessary.

“But what if you slip and fall?” was his first excuse. “What if there’s some creep in the stairwell?” was his second. Eventually, you relented.

You twisted the key into the lock and sighed.

Finally, you thought.

You could lick your wounds in the peace and privacy of your own home and not have to worry about his big, green eyes scrutinizing you as you did.

“Okay,” you said as you turned the knob. “No creeps or slips. I’m fine. You’re good to go.”

Benny looked at you seriously, all previous joking gone from his face.

“I actually, uh,” he sighed. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

Your stomach dropped to your feet.

Here it comes, you thought.

You nodded numbly.

“Uh, okay,” you said. “Come in.”

You beelined for the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of wine from a bottle you’d opened the night before, nearly missing an excited Salem in the process.

“Want a glass?”

“No, that’s okay,” he said, following behind you.

You took a gulp before turning to him, begging your nerves to quiet themselves.

“So…” you began. “Is this about your brother?”

“Uh, yeah.” Benny said, voice gravelly. “Kind of.”

You braced yourself. Here it was, the final blow.

“Okay.”

“He was right.” Benny said, looking at you earnestly. Your brows furrowed.

“What?”

“What he said,” Benny paused. “About me. I had you, and,” he paused, “and I wasn’t there for him.”

“I don’t understand—”

“It’s not about you, honey. It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

“Ben, you couldn’t have possibly known–”

“You don’t know that, though.” He looked more sad than anything. “None of us ever will, because I was too preoccupied to notice what was happening to my own brother.”

“New friend-friendships can do that to a person,” you offered, stuttering on the word ‘friend.’

“I don’t want to be your friend!” The volume of his voice made you jump, and your lower back hit the kitchen counter.

Your eyes widened at the admission.

“I want to be so much more than that.”

You were silent for a moment as you searched his face for any hint of a joke. You found none, only his anxious face, green eyes open wide in anticipation.

“But,” you stuttered. “You said–you said we were just friends.”

“Honey,” Benny sounded exasperated.

“No!” You burst. “You-you said we were just friends, that you were just doing me a favor! You–”

“What?”

“Benny, you gave me all the signals that said you didn’t want anything—”

“Like hell I did.” He shook his head.

His hands went to your shoulders, then up to either side of your face. His face matched his voice: he sounded like he was losing resolve, holding himself back from something.

“All I do is want,” he pressed his face closer to yours, his eyes pleading. “God, honey.”

“You wouldn’t let me touch you,” you pressed, voice growing smaller as you saw his desperation.

“What are you–”

“At my parents’. After you–after we–you wouldn’t let me touch you, Ben.”

“I didn’t wanna get greedy.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “If I’d started with you, honey. God, I’d never be able to quit.”

You breathed out a sigh, finally melting into him.

Your arms went around his middle, your forehead falling somewhere on his neck.

“Oh my god, Benny,” you breathed. “This is not how I thought this conversation was gonna go.”

“What do ya mean, honeybee?” he asked, arms coming around you and swaying slightly.

“Thought you were gonna end it. Let me down gently. Finally realized it’s not worth it.”

You felt Benny shake his head, before he pulled back, hands on either side of your neck.

“Funny,” he said. “I’ve been thinkin’ the same thing about you for months.”

You shook your head, a small smile on your lips. Benny’s eyes roamed up and down your face, eyes fond and unencumbered.

Your eyes held each other, for the first time, with no preconceived notions or masks. You were here, finally acknowledging what you’d been dancing around for months.

An errant thought made you start.

“So,” you began softly, not wanting to break the moment just yet. “What is this going to mean for us?”

He furrowed his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean–are we going to continue like we’ve been? Is this gonna be friends with benefits, or–”

His lips pressing into yours cut you off. The suddenness of it made you gasp, and Benny took advantage of that, pressing the kiss deeper. His palm grabbed your face, man-handling it to tilt up toward him. His other arm snaked around your waist and pulled you flush against his front.

You kissed him back, and he sighed into the kiss.

No matter how many times he kissed you, it felt like the first time. When Benny kissed, he kissed with his whole body—his mouth, his hands, his chest, his voice—you were addicted. You would never grow tired of kissing him, you were sure.

When he pulled away, he sighed and pressed wet, long kisses to either of your cheeks, then your eyelids.

“There will be no ‘friends with benefits,’” he said with more conviction than you’d ever heard in his voice.

“I’m gonna take you out. Then, I’m gonna take you out again. I’m gonna get you flowers and bring you breakfast in bed and make you laugh and I’m gonna be around so much you’ll be sick of me.”

Your breath left your lungs and you looked at him with wide eyes.

“And some day, I’m gonna marry you.”

You laughed, half from joy, half from how serious he sounded.

“Hey,” he fake-chastised. “Our marriage is nothing to joke about.”

You just threw your head back and laughed.

“At least take me out to dinner first,” you smiled.

“How does Tuesday night sound?”

“Hmmm,” you hummed, eyeing his lips again. “Pick me up around seven?”

“It’s a date.” He said, lips finally pressing to yours.

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happi-tree · 1 year ago

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i hate accidents (except when we went from friends to this)

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I don’t know what came over me, you’re just so hurt and I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do and -”

Link cuts himself off as he glances up from Taylor’s still-glazed expression to his forehead. Before his eyes, the gash stitches itself closed, the open wound fading to a pink scar that pales to white before disappearing entirely.

Lincoln remembers hearing the words “kiss it better” throughout his entire childhood. He remembers the way his dads would patch up his scraped knees with ointment and a bandage and top it all off with a tiny kiss before treating him to a hard candy from their first aid kit for being such a good boy.

Never once had Link thought that the phrase could be literal. Or that his newfound powers could make it literal.

Or: Link discovers a rather unorthodox way of using Lay On Hands thanks to one Taylor Swift, and for some reason, he can’t seem to stop finding excuses to perfect his new skills. Fortunately, Taylor is more than happy to help.

once / twice / thrice, pt. 1 / thrice, pt. 2

twice (‘cause it’s gonna be alright)

The second time it happens, it’s not an accident.

Taylor invited Link to his house on the pretense of doing homework together (who knew saving the world meant having so many late assignments?) and maybe watching some anime later.

It had taken Link some convincing at first, but Taylor thinks he’s finally got him hooked on Blue Lock: Keyed Up!!! (which is good, considering it’s the only soccer anime that Taylor’s watched).

Unfortunately, though, homework comes first. Which sucks, because there are about a million and one better things that a protagonist like him could be doing, but he doesn’t want to worry his mom about his grades slipping any further.

Plus, Taylor missed an additional afternoon’s worth of classes yesterday for a long-overdue orthodontist appointment (his jaw aches at the reminder), so he has extra extra make-up work. Ugh.

At least Link’s passable at science. Normally, Scary could make up some pretty good answers for all of them for their English work, but she’s out recording some stuff for Erica’s podcast. Normal has cheer practice, so Taylor doesn’t really have much hope for his pile of Spanish worksheets, but at the very least, he and Link are making progress.

Very slow progress.

Taylor accidentally clenches his jaw a little too hard, and the ache in his teeth intensifies from there-but-tolerable to fucking-hell-it-feels-like-someone-is-wrenching-my-upper-jaw-in-two-holy-shit.

He makes a quiet, whimpering sort of noise, and Link looks up from his work immediately, eyebrows all scrunched together and lips downturned in concern. It would be cute if Taylor could focus on anything other than the agony plaguing his mouth.

“You okay, dude?” he asks, shifting closer on Taylor’s king-size mattress.

“Nnnnnnn,” Taylor moans, shaking his head ever so slightly and flopping back against the pillows dramatically (but carefully, so as not to accidentally make the pain worse somehow). “Teeth hurt.”

“Oh, right, you got your braces adjusted yesterday,” Link gently moves their notebooks and laptops to the side, where they won’t get crushed.

Taylor’s eyes squeeze shut as he tries to do anything but focus on the ache. “Mmm,” he confirms. “And I think maybe my fangs might be growing in? Hard to tell, but I keep accidentally cutting my tongue on my canines, so I think they’re getting sharper.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Link says, and the sincerity in his voice brings a smile to Taylor’s face, which he cuts off with a wince because fuck, ow, that hurt.

“Would be cooler if my entire mouth didn’t hurt like hell, though,” Taylor grumbles.

He opens his eyes to find Link hovering over him, looking worried and… hesitant?

“Jeez, Link, I’m not dying or anything. The torment is endless and the agony neverending, but I will persevere! Ah, fuck,” Taylor mutters, pressing a hand to his cheek, which only seems to make matters worse.

Link’s still looking at him like that, though, so he makes grabby hands to beckon him closer.

“Cuddles would maybe help, though, if you’re just gonna sit there,” he offers.

“I can work with that,” Link says, laughing a little under his breath and leaning back on the pillows beside him.

He opens up his arms and Taylor wedges himself between them, tucking his head under Link’s chin and burying the top portion of his face into his chest, right below his collarbones. He inhales, trying to focus on the smell of laundry detergent and fresh-cut grass and sports deodorant and sweat and something uniquely Link rather than the pain in his jaw, and it works a little.

Link’s arms come around to encircle him, and while Taylor can feel stifled by skin-to-skin contact (he already has enough trouble regulating his own body heat without throwing someone else’s into the mix), the way Link holds him feels… nice. Protective. Link begins to trace tiny, meaningless circles into his back with his thumbs through the fabric of Taylor’s shirt, and the sensation grounds him.

Taylor quietly realizes that he hasn’t felt this safe in a long time.

His mouth still hurts like a bitch, though.

As if on cue, another pulse of pain floods his mouth, and Taylor instinctively clenches his jaw against the feeling, which in hindsight was pretty stupid because it makes the ache intensify tenfold. Taylor lets out a whine into Link’s chest, clutching helplessly at his best friend’s shirt.

He fantasizes somewhat deliriously about taking his teeth and chucking them out of his face where they can’t hurt him.

“That seems like it must be pretty painful,” Link says sadly.

“Nnnnnnnngh,” Taylor replies because yeah, no shit, Sherlock-kun.

“You know,” Link starts out, tone still soft but much more considering, more nervous. Taylor can feel the vibration of Link’s voice against the top of his head, right where it’s pressed against his taller friend’s throat. “I think I can fix that, if you want.”

Taylor pulls away a bit, and Link loosens his hold to allow for some space.

“Well, why didn’t you say so earlier?” Taylor asks. “I know I look totally awesome and composed on the outside, but I am fucking perishing inside. Yes, please, whatever your idea is, I will literally do anything. What were you thinking of, though?”

“Well,” Link says, voice pitching high, “I was thinking, I could, uh. Kiss it better? Like I did last week, if you remember that?” He looks briefly down at Taylor, as he says this, scanning his face for… something. “Oh my god, it would be so embarrassing if you didn’t remember that. Never mind, this is so stupid, sorry, forget I said anything.”

Except Taylor doesn’t really hear that last part because he’s too busy reliving the feeling of Link’s chapped lips pressed against his temple, callused hands cradling the back of his head, big brown eyes that look like black holes in the darkness of sun-off threatening to swallow Taylor completely.

Does Taylor remember last week? That’s like asking someone if they remember that the sky is red. Taylor remembers last week annoyingly well, and he keeps remembering it, and the scene plays and replays as the hellfire within his ribcage flares and the heat rises and he looks up at Link who’s still working himself into some anxiety-ridden ramble and -

Cool it, cool it, part of his mind whispers to him.

Link offered to kiss me, an irritatingly large amount of his brain shrieks back at him, uncool and uncharacteristically nervous and taking up more mental real estate by the second. Boy hugging me boy touching me boy kissing me?

You just need to calm down, the more rational part of his brain assuages. You’re Taylor Swift, you’ve got this.

I’m Taylor Swift, I’ve got this. Taylor mentally chants, strongarming the fire in his chest and turning the flame down to something a bit more bearable. I’ve got this. I’m popular, I’m icy cool, and anyone would be lucky to kiss me. I’ve got this.

Brain successfully rebooted, Taylor nudges at Link’s shoulder, stopping his friend’s mutterings in their tracks.

“As long as you haven’t talked yourself out of it, I’m, like, totally down if you’re still offering. You severely underestimate how desperate I am for pain relief.”

“Oh,” Link says, eyebrows drawn up in surprise. Then, “Really?”

“Yeah, oh,” Taylor echoes back. “Really. The only thing is… don’t you usually have to touch whatever’s hurt for it to work? And like, it’s my teeth, so…”

“Yeah, and?” Link prompts, like he isn’t quite seeing any problem with that and.

Oh.

Oh, Link means kissing kissing. Like, on the mouth. And to get at Taylor’s teeth… that’s like making-out-kissing. Oh, god. Oh my god, okay. This is fine. Sure! Great.

“Oh,” Taylor says aloud. Then, “Okay!”

“Are you sure? About this?” Link questions, searching Taylor’s expression even as he places a slightly-clammy hand to Taylor’s cheek, even as Taylor’s face feels like it lights on fire in response. The clear concern in the upturn of his brows and the gleam in his dark eyes has Taylor humming in assent before he realizes what he’s doing and placing his hand atop Link’s larger one, holding him there as Taylor’s gaze is drawn to his slightly parted lips.

“For the love of god, Link, just kiss me already.”

“Okay,” Lincoln says, quiet and slightly unsteady. And he closes the gap.

It’s clear that this is Link’s first kiss, and Taylor’s pretty sure Link can tell that it’s the first time he’s kissed someone, too (well, someone that isn’t his body pillows).

Link’s lips feel softer against Taylor’s than they had against his forehead. He’s tentative and shy and exceedingly gentle, and Taylor’s unsure if that’s out of the fear of causing him undue pain or if it’s just who Link is, but he appreciates it either way.

Link’s thumb strokes delicately across Taylor’s cheek, almost reverently, like he’s afraid that Taylor will break apart in his arms if he doesn’t treat him with care. Link’s other hand comes to rest at the side of his neck, threading through the hair that’s escaped Taylor’s topknot, and the feeling of it paired with the light press of Link’s lips against his own draws another humming sound from his throat.

Taylor tries his best to reciprocate, mouth pliant against Link’s, free hand fisting in the soft, slippery fabric of his best friend’s shirt and tugging gently as if to bring him in even closer. His other hand moves from atop Link’s to cradle the back of his head and run his fingers through his close-cropped hair.

Link makes a low, soft sort of noise that will no doubt be replaying for weeks on end in Taylor’s head. God, he needs to hear that sound again.

Sadly, though, they’ve run out of air, and Lincoln pulls away only to lean back in and carefully rest his forehead against Taylor’s.

Taylor’s eyelids blink open (oh, he had closed them, when had that happened?) and he comes face-to-face with Link, brown eyes deep and dark, half-lidded and half-dazed, staring directly at him with open affection. His hand still rests on Taylor’s cheek, and Taylor can feel the stark temperature difference there, anxiety-chilled and demonically-overheated, as something flutters hard in his chest.

“Uh, wow,” Link says, quiet and very breathless, and God, who gave him the right to be so beautiful and so adorable at the same time?

Taylor draws his lip in between his teeth and is greeted with a sharp stab of pain.

“Ow, fuck, shit,” Taylor hisses, scooching back to put more distance between the two of them. “Guess that didn’t work, but thanks for trying, Link. You out of spell slots or something?”

With Link’s complexion, it can be difficult to tell when his friend is flushed or flustered, but his wide eyes and cringing expression definitely come across as embarrassed.

“No,” he replies, voice a few octaves higher than normal. “I, uh, forgot? To do the spell.”

At Taylor’s quirked eyebrow, Link elaborates, “I just wanted to make sure I didn’t accidentally hurt you more, and then I got so wrapped up in that that I guess I forgot, and then you did that thing with your hand in my hair, and -” he cuts himself off with a whine, covering his eyes with a hand and dramatically rolling over, the picture of mortification. “Kill me now.”

Taylor laughs, loud and sudden and sharp despite the pain, and Lincoln curls a little further into himself.

“I can just, uh - I made it weird, I can just go, I guess?” Link says in that reedy, nervous way of his, voice cracking toward the end as he sits up, moves to stand -

“Dude,” Taylor clambers across the mattress after him, grabs his wrist. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“I-“ Link gestures with his thumb toward the door. “Home? I mean, I screwed up, and you laughed, and now you probably think I’m so stupid and-“

“Hold up, handsome,” where did that pet name come from - “I wasn’t laughing at you- I mean! I was,” Taylor watches as Link’s expression droops further “- but not to make fun of you! It’s just…” Come on, just say it, you’ve never had trouble speaking your mind before - “endearing.”

Link looks more confused and anxious than anything, but that’s better than sad and anxious, so Taylor takes that as a win.

“Plus, you’re not getting away from me that easy, Li-Wilson,” He adds, tugging his friend a little closer. Link doesn’t resist it.

Taylor allows a smile to pull at his lips, only flinching a little bit at the pain he now expects. “You can try again, you know,” he offers, looking up at Link through his lashes.

“I can?” His friend asks, skin flushed darker across his cheeks. “I didn’t make it too awkward?”

“Nope!” Taylor responds, popping the “p.”

“Nothing awkward about a good old-fashioned makeout session with your best friend!”

“Best friend,” Link echoes, “Right…”

“C’mon,” Taylor goads, crooking a finger toward him as he smirks. “I don’t bite.”

Taylor’s gaze lowers from Link’s face and rests at the side of his friend’s neck, taking note of the sparse freckles there. His teeth feel a little heavier in his mouth.

“Not unless you want me to,” he murmurs.

“What?” Link asks, sounding strangled.

“Don’t worry about it,” Taylor evades.

“If you’re really sure -“

“I am,” Taylor confirms, moving to sit half-gracelessly in his friend’s lap, hands steadying his weight on Link’s strong shoulders. “Now, less tally-talky, more smoochy-smoochy!”

“So demanding,” Link teases, even as he threads his fingers through his hair again. Taylor can hear the smile in his voice without having to look - which is good, because if he did, he’s pretty sure he’d give into the impulse to kiss the curve of his lips without preamble.

“You bet.” Taylor’s voice comes out much breathier than he expects as he meets Link’s eyes. “Don’t forget the spell this time!”

“I won’t! Probably.”

Just like before, Link leans in again, and a slight smile pulls at Taylor’s lips as he meets him halfway.

The sensation of Link’s lips against his own is a little less foreign now, a little less startling. Taylor lets himself melt into it, and just before he closes his eyes he can see the adorable little furrow of concentration between Link’s brows that he gets whenever he’s casting something.

Kissing his best friend tastes like vanilla chapstick and Taylor’s favorite soda. Link had snagged a bottle of lychee Ramune out of his hands earlier, saying something about how carbonation was bad for braces and offering his homemade sports drink instead (which hadn’t tasted too great but wasn’t quite as bad as Taylor had expected). Taylor finds that he doesn’t really mind, now - not when the flavor is even more addictive this way.

Link’s hands come up to cradle the sides of Taylor’s face like some sort of fairytale prince, firm and gentle and insistent all at once. The soft pressure of his friend’s fingertips ghosts along the jut of his jawline, and it’s almost worshipful, like Link sees Taylor as someone to be adored.

The tenderness of it all sends a thrill down Taylor’s spine, and then the chill spreads, unfurling itself through every nerve.

Taylor has been on the receiving end of Link’s magic before, but he’s rarely lucid enough to appreciate it, to bask in the comforting coolness his friend’s Lay On Hands brings. It’s less like running an open cut under cold water and more like a fresh breeze in the middle of a stagnant summer afternoon, he thinks, something blissful and relieving that reminds him of safety, just like the boy he’s kissing. He falls forward into the embrace - both the spell and Link’s affection - as his hands tangle themselves in the back of Link’s athletic shirt, chasing the feeling. Link’s magic is a deeply soothing sensation, a balm to Taylor’s flushed cheeks and fire-bright nerves and burning heart, and he can feel himself melt in Link’s hold, his thoughts reducing to little more than a warm haze against his lips.

Link pulls away after what probably amounted to only a few moments, and Taylor leans after him on instinct. His eyes flutter open just in time to see Link gazing down at him fondly through his lashes, the last dregs of his magic sparking across his irises in anvil-sharp flashes of bronze before fizzling out entirely. His lips are slightly kiss-bruised, and it sends a jolt of satisfaction through Taylor’s stomach as he realizes that he did that.

“Did it work this time?” Link asks him, still cradling Taylor’s face in his hands, thumbs still grazing lightly across his cheeks.

It takes a few seconds for Taylor to register the question, then a few more as he prods at the back of his teeth with his tongue, clenches his jaw experimentally.

“Looks like it!” He confirms happily, though his joy sours a bit as Link’s hands leave his face to lean back on his arms, mourning the loss of contact.

“You’re a genius, Link,” Taylor praises, smiling and then smiling wider when he realizes that he feels no pain whatsoever. “Think you could do that again whenever my joints are acting up?”

He doesn’t really mean it - of course, a bigger part of him than he’d like to admit does, but his tone was supposed to come off as teasing - but Link’s eyes go wide and his cheeks darken further, and maybe Taylor wouldn’t mind at all if his friend takes that one hundred percent seriously.

“I- I mean, if you want t- If it’d help?” He fumbles, face flushing further as he stutters. It’s pretty commonplace to see Link a bit flustered, but it’s different when Taylor knows that he’s the reason for it. It’s pretty cute, in his opinion.

“It’d do more than help. Chronic pain sucks ass, but you’d be, like, my personal angel,” Taylor says, looking up at Link.

You already are, his mind adds for him.

“Sure, then. Anytime. Uh, that’s what friends are for, right?” Link asks, those big brown eyes of his searching Taylor’s face for something.

He said “anytime”, is Taylor’s only coherent thought, one that runs giddy circles in his brain. I kissed Lincoln Li-Wilson. Twice. I just kissed my best friend twice. He said he’d kiss me again. God, I want to kiss him again.

“Mm,” Taylor half-responds, still reeling from the way Link’s hands carded through his hair and smoothed over his cheeks and the way their lips slotted together.

“Oh,” Taylor hears Link say distantly. “Okay, that’s, um. Okay.”

“Mm,” Taylor hums again, still in the process of rebooting what’s left of his brain.

A hand waves in front of Taylor’s face. “Taylor? You okay there, buddy? Did I do the spell wrong somehow? Please tell me I didn’t break you.”

You can break me anytime, Taylor thinks, mind conjuring images he definitely should not be having this close to the subject of his fantasies.

Taylor shakes his head in attempt to clear them. “All good, my man! Just, uh, thinking.” He desperately hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels.

“Wanna get back to homework, then?” Link says, gesturing to the pile of notebooks. “I think one of our make-up quizzes is due tonight.”

“Oh, shit, I forgot about that. We should probably get back to studying, huh.” He scoots away from Link to grab a notebook and his laptop, and for once in his life he misses the body heat of having a person next to him.

“Okay,” Link says, patting the empty space next to him and propping himself up against Taylor’s headboard.Taylor complies, settling himself into place at his side and handing him a pen (ballpoint, blue ink, Link’s favorite kind). He finds his own (a click pen, black gel ink) after a few moments of feeling around on the comforter.

“We’re still on chapter seven, right?” He asks, chewing on the end of his pen as he attempts to decipher the chicken scratch that is his own handwriting.

“Unfortunately,” Link sighs, slinging his left arm around Taylor’s shoulders.

As Taylor leans into Link’s side, he thinks that even though make-up work is bound to be hell, there are much less fortunate things than this. He smiles to himself, and it doesn’t hurt one bit.

#YEEHAW. ao3 may be down but my wild fic posting methods continue <333 #also!!! ty to everyone for being so patient about this!!! hope y'all like part 2! :Dc #as before. title from paper rings taylor swift!#hopefully i did not accidentally make 5000 billion mistakes in this and things are kinda sorta in character ahsvdhkasvdvs #dndads #swiftli #fic #happi scribbles

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sailoryooons · 2 years ago

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AHHHH LILLIA THANK YOU SO MUCH PLS. I know what you mean - honestly somedays you just want to like lay down and read something soft and comforting so I was so excited to fill this request.

I try to do one hour of happiness or at a MINIMUM one our of nothingness which is where I think/do nothing and just lay there and try to relax. No negative thoughts or sulking, just purely doing nothing and honestly it helps a ton.

Thank you so much for reading and leaving some kind words, I really appreciate it mwah mwah mwah

hi!!! for your writng event, i'd like to request a lil something for yoongi inspired by for Taylor Swift's Paper RIngs, especially the line "I like shiny things but I’d marry you with paper rings".

thank you!! <33

NIXIE OF COURSE. I have to admit I was super unfamiliar with the song, but I really tried to incorporate some of it in here, specifically with the number of kisses meaning different things, the little imagery of reading the same books / jumping into the pool, and obviously the quote. I hope this brings you a lil fluff and warmth!

→ Summary: Yoongi cheers you up in the kitchen after a bad day, reminding you of just how much you love him.

→ Pairing: Yoongi x female reader

→ Rating: SWF

→ Warnings: Fluff. Some innocent kissing. Drinking wine.

→ Word Count: 1,027

→ Type: Drabble / Request

→ Genre: established relationship, fluff

→ Main Masterlist: here

→ faq

→ Part of Hali’s Happy Agust writing event

Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgement or representation of real life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real life scenarios

By an unwritten rule, you are required to grumble when Yoongi hauls you up from the couch. You pout at him, trying to convey that the long work day has turned your bones to jelly and that there is no frame to hold your body up.

Seemingly, he gets it. Yoongi wraps his arms around your waist, hugging you tight as he presses his chest against your back. His chin slots perfectly over your shoulder and he steals a shy kiss on the cheek. That makes you grin a little – perhaps the first one all day.

“You don’t have to do anything except stir,” your boyfriend promises. He begins to nudge you forward, dragging your movements in sync with his. “If you still want to wallow after, you are absolutely in your right to do so. But you asked for one hour of no sadness a day, and we’re doing it.”

You hum, frowning as he manages to drag your ass to the kitchen. You did ask him to hold you accountable for monitoring bad moods and not letting them consume your days and your life. So far, Yoongi had been really fucking good at it, too.

Perhaps it’s the years between you that have given him such amazing insight into who you are as a person. He knows to set you up in the kitchen by placing a glass of wine in your one hand while he slides a cooking spoon in the other: work and reward.

Yoongi knows that when you pout at him as he tosses the meat into a pan, you need just a little extra love. So he lets dinner sizzle as he leans over to you, hand abandoning his task to gently slip a curved finger under your jaw, tilting your mouth to his in a soft kiss that tastes a little bit like sweet red wine and just… Yoongi.

“I know it was a long day,” he murmurs. He presses another chaste kiss to your lips, making your head spin. He pulls away and thinks better of it, stealing a final kiss, nose brushing softly against yours. Your mind is heady with his plush mouth. “It’ll be all right.”

You remember the first time you kissed Yoongi. It had come as a surprise, an act of bravery when you had been crying over failing an exam. He had been sitting next to you on the bench overlooking the lake on campus, and before you knew what was happening, he had pressed his lips against yours.

Even two years later, it makes your head spin. You had been friends with him for years, chewing on a massive crush like a dog on a bone. Being afraid to ruin your friendship has long since been a fear of the past. The softness of his lips at the minty breath of the gum he always chewed had chased away that fear then, and it does now.

Yoongi goes back to cooking gesturing at the noodles that you have now abandoned in favor of staring at his side profile: soft nose, feline eyes, pouted lips and if you squint, freckles.

“What are you thinking about?” he prompts as you stir the pasta. “You have that look on your face.”

“What look?”

He shrugs. “A cute one.”

“I was thinking about the first time you kissed me.” He goes red from his button nose to his ears. You feel the smile growing on your face, hiding the grin in your glass of wine as you take a sweet sip. It’s a little too sweet, but it’s Yoongi’s favorite. “It was just… so unexpected. I never knew you liked me.”

He snorts. “Everyone else did. I mean don’t get me wrong, I like reading, but I curated my bookshelf after the pile I saw next to your bed freshman year.”

“Really?” He’s never told you that. He shrugs shyly, focused on the sizzle of the pan and popping oil. “That’s cute. Remember that time you jumped into Seokjin’s pool in the middle of the night after that cold snap? Jin didn’t really dare me to follow you – I just did cause I wanted to relate to you.”

“Huh. Kind of dumb, huh?”

“Well I get to sleep next to you now so… perhaps not.”

He grins. You’ve forgotten about your bad day. Forgotten about the way Monday makes your step drag, makes you sag at the edges. Yoongi always has that effect on you, taking your attitude and turning it around with gentle hands.

“I was always worried you wouldn’t return the sentiment.” Yoongi turns the burner off. You do the same, steam wafting around your hand. In tandem, you move around the kitchen, trained in the art of living around one another. “I didn’t have much to offer.”

“Yoongi,” you chide, pouring pasta into the strainer. “I didn’t care about that shit then, and I wouldn’t now.”

“I know, but it’s nice to know that now I have the stability to buy you a ring when we get married.”

“Is that a promise of marriage?”

He steals the fourth kiss from you as he turns on the cold water, cooling the pasta a bit. “It always has been. From that first kiss, I wanted to marry you.”

“Well as it turns out, ring or not, I would marry you.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course, I would. I love you. I like shiny things but I'd marry you with paper rings.”

And you’re absolutely serious. Since the moment you started dating, you’ve pictured a life with Yoongi. Pictured being the one he leans into when he just needs a moment to cry. To be the person for him when he needs a steady hand to give him courage. To be the one that he saved that secret smile of his for, the one where he tucks his face into his shoulder, smile full of gums and eyes squinted.

When you turn to the fridge to get sauce out, Yoongi smiles. Runs his hand over the box in his back pocket. Watches as you stand on your tiptoes to get what you want. “Good to know,” he murmurs. “And I love you too.”

#fic: paper rings #sailor q

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