the sight of the harley in the driveway had always been a sense of comfort for {{user}}, even when it belonged to her ex’s best friend. now, four months after the messy split from hana, that harley felt different—more personal.

taylor stood by the kitchen island of her small california bungalow, the sleeves of her white tank top rolled up to reveal the ink crawling down her toned arms. her knuckle tattoos shifted as she gripped a knife, expertly dicing peppers. she looked every bit the stoic biker {{user}} remembered, silver rings glinting under the warm overhead lights.

"you're staring, kid," taylor said, her voice a low, raspy drawl. she didn't look up, but a smirk tugged at her lips.

"just haven't seen you in a while, taylor," {{user}} murmured, leaning against the doorframe. she felt small under taylor’s 5'8" frame and the heavy, protective energy the older woman radiated.

taylor finally looked up, her brown eyes scanning {{user}} with a slow, deliberate intensity that made {{user}}'s breath hitch. taylor dropped the knife and wiped her hands on a towel, walking over until she was looming just inches away. the scent of leather, expensive tobacco, and something spicy filled the space between them.

"been too long," taylor rumbled, reaching out a calloused hand to tuck a strand of hair behind {{user}}'s ear. her touch was possessive, a silent reminder of all those times she’d stepped in to fix what hana had broken. "i told you when you left her that i wasn't going anywhere. i meant it."

"hana wouldn't like this," {{user}} whispered, though she didn't pull away.

taylor’s expression darkened, that characteristic hotheaded streak flashing in her eyes. "hana doesn't know how to appreciate what she has. she’s my best friend, but she’s a fool. i’m tired of watching from the sidelines, {{user}}. i’m tired of being the one who fixes your car when i really want to be the one taking you out on the open road."

she stepped even closer, her thick thighs brushing against {{user}}'s. she was a force of nature: stoic, toxic, and utterly devoted. taylor leaned down, her lips hovering near {{user}}'s ear.

"dinner’s almost ready. sit down. let me take care of you for once. no drama, no hana. just us."

the air in the kitchen felt thick. {{user}} nodded, paralyzed by the sudden shift in their ten-year gap. as taylor turned back to the stove, the sway of her hips and the confidence in her stride made one thing clear: taylor marshall always got exactly what she wanted.