Title: one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, and loved the sorrows of your changing face
Relationships: Ben Clark/Taylor Hernández
Additional tags: Fluff, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort
Prompt: June 1st (Clothes Swap)
By: @sbgpairingsmonth
-
"You're wearing my shirt," He blinks slowly, hesitating as he walks forward.
Taylor looks up from the couch, brown eyes wide in surprise, "Oh hey! What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here early-" Her face morphs into something near concern when she catches a glimpse of her calendar, "It's not a holiday or minimum day for you, is it? I swear I would have planned something if I knew... I wouldn't forget-"
He lifts a finger to her lips, effectively shutting her up. A soft blush scatters around her cheekbones, and in the dim living room lighting she looks fucking stunning.
He takes a long second to admire her eyes for the thousandth time, before removing his finger.
Ben raises his right hand and drops it on the cushion, still standing behind her- knees hitting the soft padding of their burgundy second-hand sofa.
Do I need an excuse to want to see my wife?
Taylor's grin is blinding, as always, all teeth and bright irises, which crinkle in the corners and cause a few more strands of hair to fall in front of her face.
No, she signs back, But what's the occasion?
He looks away and pouts, and Taylor raises her eyebrows in mock surprise, "Oh?"
They're playing a game, and they both know it- a silly little thing they started in high school when they first started dating. As affectionate as they were, they were also both incredibly stubborn people- refusing to cave in first and admit they missed the other.
Today, however, Ben doesn't feel like wasting any time.
He comes over to sit on the coach, sinking in and curling into his wife, finally home.
Ben feels his eyes close voluntarily, head drooping onto Taylor's shoulders. She pushes her phone a few inches away and brings her hand up to card through his hair lightly.
They're gentle, idle motions that lull him into peace- soft featherlight touches just enough to make him feel like he's floating, as the fingers draped across his scalp make him feel grounded.
"Bad day?" She whispers, her voice gliding over him like a warm blanket, bringing him back to the present.
His hand rests on her thigh as he signs, Told the manager I was sick and needed to go home early. A few seconds pass, until he points to his temple and signs "too much"- ASL for overstimulated.
"I'm sorry, love," She mumbles, leaning closer to him- knowing that physical touch helps. Her touch helps.
They stay like that for a while, the only sounds being the whir of the fan and the wind shuffling Taylor's stack of papers near the open window.
Eventually, and reluctantly, Ben lifts his head.
I hate everything. Except you. I hate the whole world except for you.
He gives an exaggerated sigh and Taylor giggles, brushing non-existent stray hair behind his ears, gazing adoringly at the boy she's loved for more than a decade, "God, I love you."
He never gets tired of hearing that.
Ben idly begins to twirl his pinkie around the label on her shirt... his shirt.
He looks up, and this time he's the one raising his eyebrows.
Taylor looks away and flushes, "Shut up. Am I not allowed to miss my husband?"
Ben really, really, really loves when Taylor calls him that.
It's my favorite shirt.
"I don't care. It's mine now."
That's not fair. I need one of yours then.
She snorts at that, looking at him incredulously, "One of mine? To wear?"
Yes.
She continued to look at him for a few seconds before bursting into laughter.
I'm not kidding!
"I know, I know, sweetheart. I just- every time I think I know you well enough, you surprise me with something that makes me love you even more. Seriously, it's got to be some sort of skill."
Her eyes are filled with mirth and love and adoration, and even though she's wearing an oversized t-shirt and her hair is a mess and she has black circles from always staying up late, she's still the most beautiful fucking person Ben has ever seen.
"Finee," she finally relents, sighing in fake exasperation, "I suppose I can give you something of mine if you let me keep this."
Additional tags: Fluff, Baking, Baking Competition AU
Prompt: June 4rd (Cooking)
By: @sbgpairingsmonth
-
The kitchen smells like browned butter.
Ben stands at his station, jaw set, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His fingers move carefully, shaping dough into even circles with a precision that looks effortless but definitely isn’t. His hands are a little shaky today- too many cameras, too much noise- but the motions are muscle memory by now.
Creamed butter. Brown sugar. A hint of sea salt. Vanilla. A bunch of random shit he should probably know the exact name for.
It’s not exactly a show stopping recipe- it's not trendy or photogenic or theatrical. But it's just the kind of cookie you might bake for someone you love.
Across the room, Taylor is orchestrating organized chaos. There’s flour on her nose and a half-peeled apple rolling across the counter like a slow escapee. She’s muttering to herself while cutting dough into a vague shape of a heart- intentionally or not, he isn’t sure- but it makes something in his chest warm anyway.
She glances over at him, looks back down, and then looks back up again suddenly- this time catching his eyes.
“Hey,” she calls softly, just loud enough to be heard over the whir of mixers and the competitive banter of the other bakers. “You okay?”
Ben pauses. He presses his palms flat to the counter, grounding himself in the cool surface. Then lifts his hands.
Getting there. Butter helps.
Taylor snorts and wipes her hands on a towel before coming over. She moves into his space like it’s nothing new (because it’s not), and rests her hip lightly against his.
“Show me?”
Ben reaches for a still-warm cookie and breaks it in half, handing her the bigger piece.
She bites into it. Pauses. Blinks.
“Holy shit, Ben. This is like… fucking awesome.”
He signs, smiling: Thanks, Lily helped perfect it.
She looks up at him, something soft and vulnerable blooming in her expression.
“I’m keeping you,” she says. “Just so you know. Whether you win or not.”
Ben smirks, then signs again. You better.
Taylor grins, crumbs at the corner of her mouth, and leans up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. It's quick. Gentle. Just enough to make his ears go pink.
She lingers a second longer than necessary, then turns back to her station.
He watches her go, then turns back to the bowl of dough waiting patiently in front of him. He begins to scoop up another batch of cookies and set them on the tray in front of him.
Before he manages to get immersed completely again, Taylor calls back, "Oh, and apologize to Lily for me! I loved the cookies but... well, mine are way better."
The bouquet of roses he picked up on the way over rests in pink and purple plastic wrap, obnoxiously loud every time he adjusts his grip.
The plastic crackles in the quiet suburban afternoon, somehow louder against the buzzing in his ears. A breeze lifts the hem of his shirt, cool against the sweat on his back, while he wonders- again- if he’s made a mistake.
It’s not that big of a deal, really, giving flowers to his new girlfriend. People do it all the time.
But Ben was nothing if not thorough- and he’d spent the last few hours researching flower language and everything it meant.
Nine red roses meant “eternal love”- and sure, it was a bit cringe, but Taylor was a hopeless romantic, and so was he. They weren’t going to make fun of each other for something that made them both swoon.
They were wrapped in purple for admiration and pink for gratitude- and he’d even made sure the roses didn’t have thorns. Apparently, that meant “love at first sight,” or something equally ridiculous.
He’s just about to knock when the door swings open- fast- and Taylor stumbles slightly, eyes wide like she’d been mid-sprint inside the house.
“Ben?” she says, breath catching like she’s surprised, even though they agreed to meet at five.
She’s in a faded hoodie and bike shorts, hair half-pulled back, cheeks slightly flushed.
She’s adorable, his mind offers, and he pretends not to hear it.
Taylor was sunshine, energy, and chaos bottled into one person- the moon, the stars, and the truth- everything Ben was made of, everything Ben was made for.
Yeah. She’s fucking adorable.
Ben swallows. Hi, he signs.
He holds the flowers out with both hands, a little too fast. These are for you.
Taylor blinks down at them. And then she blinks at him.
“You brought me flowers?”
Her voice lifts the way it does when she’s not sure whether to laugh or cry- or maybe both. He can’t tell which.
Yeah, he signs before rubbing the back of his neck. Is that okay?
She takes them like she’s handling something precious, something sacred.
“Are these... do the colors mean something?” she asks, gesturing to the wrap. “Because this-” she points at the purple, then the pink “-feels very intentional.”
Ben’s ears go red. Maybe.
Taylor looks up at him and smiles- not her usual wide, effortless grin, but something softer. A smile he’s only seen once or twice, and never directed towards him.
“You’re such a nerd.”
You like that about me. He smiles back, signing quickly.
“I do,” she says, quieter now, “a lot.”
She steps aside and motions him in with her elbow. “Come in! I think I have a vase somewhere under the sink.”
Ben exhales the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and follows her inside. The door clicks shut behind him.
The Hernandez house smells like cinnamon and coconut shampoo- normal and warm. He’s been here too many times to count, and the familiar scents calm his nerves.
He watches her set the roses down carefully on the counter, biting her lip as she unwraps them like they’re something delicate.
Ben leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching her move.
“Did you know,” she says suddenly, pulling a glass vase from under the sink, “that purple means ‘enchantment’?”
He nods. Admiration, too.
She glances back at him, eyes dancing. “And pink?”
Gratitude. Maybe a little sweetness.
Taylor turns to face him fully, holding the stems gently. “And the roses?”
He hesitates.
…Eternal love.
She doesn’t react at first- not outwardly- but then her expression shifts, just slightly. She steps toward him, the roses still in hand.
“You’re dangerous,” she murmurs, resting her head on his shoulder.
Ben tilts his head, brow raised. Why?
“Because it’s only been a month,” she says, “and I already want to keep you.”
Ben smiles, really smiles, and reaches for her hand.
Yeah. It was definitely a good idea to bring her roses.
