#evermore is a close second though

[nataliescatorrccio]

whats your favorite taylor album?

Speak Now!!

(Honesty Hour)

[whoreash]

superglue ──★ ˙🍓 ̟

“sae?” the words leave you like a whisper, afraid to scare your, highly, unwell, boyfriend.

while you would have preferred an answer, the silence engulfed you— your face, practically, moulding into the door as you try to hear for any signs of danger, or anger, or sadness.

although, you didn’t, really, know what you were, exactly, searching for— as, well, you’ve never had to deal with drunk sae. until now, that is.

and, god knows what type of drunk he was. it seemed even his teammates, that hurried him into your apartment, were cautious and foreign to sae in this state. so, you tried giving him space, letting the sobriety slowly seep in.

but, now, with a bathroom door in front of you, that’s been locked for 17 minutes, you were starting to get obnoxiously worried and… curious.

“princess?” the nickname woke sae up instantly, hand flinging to the door handle and opening it, ever so slightly, with squinted eyes. a small ‘ah’ escaped your lips, as you, finally, saw his overly messy hair and flushed cheeks, in full glory.

“i— i told you not to call me that,”

his words were, so apparently, slurred even through the attempts of trying to clear his throat. it was, almost, cute— no, very cute. the slowness and coarseness of his words making your own mind swirl with a daze. although, one thing that didn’t change during sae’s intoxication was his direct, clear eye contact that burnt into your skull.

“it got your attention, though, didn’t it?”

the door, in return, closed on you instantly.

okay, so he’s sensitive— no harsh words. console, comfort and reassure. no jokes and, definitely, no bad nicknames.

“hey— sae, baby, come on,” you knock on the door, again, with just the tip of your knuckles, coaxing him to you, in measured movements. “sae, remember the last time i was drunk? do you remember what helped me?”

of course, he remembered the most restless night of his life— but, somehow, your small ‘baby’s’ succumbed him to the thought of it. the feeling of a snug bed that let his heavy head drop, and the feeling of your scent around him seemed to captivate sae’s mind more than the alcohol did.

“cuddling in bed naked,”

which is exactly how you ended up together, tangled in the duvet with just underwear on and sae’s head in the crook of your neck. ironic where he ended up today, when last time this happened he was complaining the whole way through about clammy bodies, clingy arms and mismatched sleep rhythms. this will, definitely, be brought up in the morning, when he’s not so delicate and vulnerable— a true royal princess.

“want to tell me why you’re so drunk?”

silence. for ten seconds. then twenty. then thirty.

“was scared,”

“what could you, possibly, be scared of itoshi sae?”

“losing you.”

you didn’t ask any further questions after that, although you contemplated it, you also knew how unwilling sae would be to answer them, and, anyways, he was asleep in the next minute or so. instead, you, carefully, held onto him all night, through all the clammy bodies and odd sleeping rhythms.

you hoped that he’d get the hint, and when he woke up with your sweaty arms on him— this time he accepted it with slight reluctance.

note : this is in honour of me getting role model tickets a day after my birthday!! anyways, apologies for not being active like AT ALL, exam season has been killing me and also,,, grinding genshin oops <3. thankfully, exams finish in two weeks so i will be back super soon with a new chapter for evermore!!

[seospicybin]

EVERMORE.

PROLOGUE

Bangchan x reader x Hyunjin. (s,f,a)

EVERMORE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When your daughter’s wedding weekend brings you, a former it-girl and Chris, a legendary rockstar back under one roof, the two of you must navigate old memories, unexpected feelings, and the chaos of family. As laughter, love, and a hint of scandal unfold, you're both reminded that some love stories don’t end—they just change shape. (16k words)

Author's note: You guys asked for Hyunchan so here you go. As always, hope you enjoy it and don't forget to share your thoughts after ♡

Rock Royalty Welcomes a New Heir: Chris Bang Becomes a Father October 13, 2000 — by Robert Yang. Move over, guitars and groupies—Bang Theory’s wild-hearted frontman Chris Bang is now a dad. The 23-year-old rockstar and his longtime partner, beloved 90s "It Girl", welcomed their first child into the world early this morning at a private hospital in Seoul. A healthy baby girl named Tigerlily was born at 5:47 AM, weighing in at 3.1 kg, just hours after Chris wrapped his set at the Soundscape festival. “He cried. Both of them did,” a nurse from the delivery room said. “He looked more nervous than on stage.” Despite being known for his stage dives, pyrotechnics, and tabloid-worthy antics, insiders say the famously untamed musician turned into “a complete marshmallow” the moment he held his daughter for the first time. “She's got his nose and her mother’s everything else,” a source close to the couple shared. The pair has yet to release an official photo, but fans are already flooding forums with love and name guesses—though Tigerlily, a bold and whimsical choice, feels perfectly on brand for the iconic couple. No word yet on whether this new chapter means a break for Bang Theory, but one thing’s certain: Chris Bang just had his loudest, most life-altering debut yet. Rockstar? Yes. But now… Dad.

-

Tigerlily came into the world on a rainy Tuesday in October. The sky cracked open like a dramatic cue, thunder shaking the windows of the hospital room while you clutched the sides of the bed, barely old enough to drink but old enough to know your life was about to change forever.

You were twenty-two. The industry's darling, all soft glam and sharp edges, gracing every magazine cover and walking every red carpet with a gaze that dared people to look twice. Chris had just come off a whirlwind tour with The Bang Theory the rock band that had somehow become the voice of a generation overnight—gritty, golden, and chaotic in a way only the 90s could pull off.

He didn’t make it in time. Missed the delivery by two hours, stuck in a storm somewhere between the airport and the hospital. But when he burst through the hospital doors, hair damp and chest heaving, the world slowed down for just a second.

And then—Tigerlily.

Born screaming, like she already knew how loud the world could be and wasn’t afraid of it. She had your mouth and his eyes and the softest tuft of dark hair, like velvet. She stared at you both like she’d been waiting lifetimes to meet you.

She was born with the kind of name that sounded like she came from a song. And maybe she did. Bang Chan insisted on it—“She’s going to be a force,” he said. “She needs a name that doesn’t sit quietly.”

And she never did.

For the first five years of her life, her world was a tour bus. Not playgrounds or preschool, but green rooms and stadium seats. You learned how to swaddle her with one hand and fix your eyeliner with the other. She’d nap through soundchecks and dance barefoot on stage during rehearsals, curls bouncing as she clutched her little stuffed bunny.

She loved the hum of the road, the neon-lit nights, the way her dad would scoop her up mid-song and let her press her tiny hands over his guitar strings. She called every band member “uncle,” and by the time she was four, she could identify a Fender Strat by sight.

Sometimes, you worried she was missing out on normal things. But then you'd see her curled up in Chan’s lap as he strummed lullabies that weren’t written for the charts, or the way her eyes lit up when the crowd sang back to him.

She was safe. She was loved. And she was extraordinary.

And now, she stands under the golden light of a university auditorium, dressed in a powder blue gown, clutching her art degree in hands that once clung to your hair as you sang her to sleep.

You sit in the front row, surrounded by strangers, with pride ballooning so hard in your chest you think you might float right off the seat. Chris isn’t here—touring again, or producing, or lost in some other corner of the world. You’re used to it by now. So is Tigerlily.

Still, you clap until your hands sting, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.

She didn’t just survive the whirlwind you brought her into—she bloomed in it. And in that moment, you realized—you didn’t just raise a daughter. You raised a woman who knew exactly who she was.

You wait just outside the auditorium, clutching a bouquet of Tiger Lilies—just like her name. The kind she used to doodle in the margins of her notebooks as a kid once she knew she is named after the flowers. The crowd spills out around you in waves: parents with cameras, graduates in gowns, professors in velvet hoods, all buzzing with joy and relief. But you only have eyes for her.

And then—there she is.

Tigerlily spots you instantly, weaving through the crowd with that effortless grace she must’ve inherited from someone else entirely. Her gown flows behind her like a cape, and when she reaches you, she throws her arms around your neck without a word.

You breathe her in. She still smells like vanilla and that earthy perfume she never leaves the house without. You hold her a little tighter than you mean to.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whisper into her hair, blinking fast against the sting in your eyes.

She pulls back with a bright, tear-glossed smile. “Tulips,” she says, beaming. “You remembered.”

“I always remember.”

You hand her the bouquet, watching as she presses her nose into them with a soft sigh. For a second, you think you’ve made it through without a cloud. But then—

“Did Dad text you?”

The question comes gently, not accusing—just hopeful. You hesitate.

You shake your head. “No. He couldn’t make it.”

Tigerlily’s smile falters for the briefest second, but she nods like she was already bracing for it. She always was good at bracing. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I figured.”

You reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear the way you used to when she was five and nervous about her first ballet recital. “He’d be here if he could. You know that, right?”

She shrugs, looking down at the tulips. “I guess.”

You give her a soft nudge with your elbow. “He’s probably somewhere feeling miserable about it. You know how dramatic he gets. I’m sure he’s got his face buried in his hands, whispering lyrics about lost time into a notebook.”

That earns you a smile—small, but real.

“Anyway,” you continue, linking your arm through hers. “We have a reservation at Monarch. I even bribed them for extra truffle fries.”

“You never bribe restaurants,” she says, narrowing her eyes at you.

“Well,” you say, leading her toward the sidewalk, “you only graduate from college once. And we’re celebrating you. No distractions, no missed moments.”

Tigerlily squeezes your arm, resting her head on your shoulder as you walk.

“Thanks, Mom.”

You smile softly. “Always, my little cub.”

-

The restaurant is glowing, lit with soft amber lights that reflect off the polished windows and make everything feel a little more golden than real life. You guide Tigerlily through the front doors, her gown bunched in one hand, bouquet in the other, cheeks still rosy from all the congratulations.

“You really booked Monarch?” she whispers, wide-eyed. “You never let me eat here growing up.”

“You never had a degree before,” you murmur with a small smile. “Besides, I figured you deserved something special tonight.”

The host greets you with a polite nod and gestures toward the back corner booth, the one with the plush velvet seats and the view of the city through the tall windows. Tigerlily starts forward, then pauses.

Someone’s already there.

He’s sitting casually, fingers tapping against a water glass, hair pushed back like he just walked off a photo shoot—still effortlessly cool after all these years, even with the faint silver near his temples that he’s stopped trying to hide.

Chris.

Tigerlily stops in her tracks, staring for a beat too long.

“Dad?”

Chris stands up slowly, a crooked grin pulling at his lips. “Hey, little cub.”

Her bouquet hits the table with a soft thud as she launches toward him.

You lean against the doorway, arms crossed and grinning as you watch her collide into his chest with all the force of a girl who may have been preparing herself for disappointment, but never quite stopped hoping.

“You told me he wasn’t coming!” she shouts over her shoulder, arms still around her dad’s neck.

You shrug, stepping further into the room. “Well, it’s called a surprise for a reason.”

Chris laughs as he holds her tighter, eyes closing for a second like he’s breathing her in. Like the years he’s missed are pressing against him all at once.

You stand quietly by the table, taking them in—the way her arms wrap around him like she did when she was small and sleepy, always reaching out for one more hug, one more story, one more night tucked between the two of you on a too-small tour bus mattress.

She always was a daddy’s girl. You murmur it to yourself, too soft for anyone to hear. “She still is.”

And for a moment, you forget all the complications. Forget the past, the missed birthdays, the growing distance. All you see is your daughter, glowing with joy, exactly where she’s supposed to be.

Dinner arrives in warm, fragrant waves—plates of truffle fries, roasted duck, handmade pasta that glistens under the golden lights. The booth feels like its own little world, wrapped in velvet and candlelight and the soft murmur of clinking glasses in the background.

Chris sits across from you, Tigerlily nestled between you both like she’s still your little girl, even if she’s outgrown everything but her stubbornness. She’s glowing with the kind of joy that makes her look younger and older all at once.

“So,” Chris says, setting down his fork and looking at her with that proud, slightly overwhelmed expression he wears every time he sees her after too long. “What’s next, cub?”

Tigerlily leans back, reaching for her water glass. “I’ve got a few freelance gigs lined up. Illustration work. Book covers, a couple zines.”

Chris lets out a low whistle. “Look at you. Graduating and conquering the world.”

“I learned from the best,” she says, her eyes darting between the two of you.

You smile but stay quiet, sipping your wine and letting them talk. Chris starts telling her about the band—how The Bang Theory is planning a small reunion tour, something acoustic and intimate, “just for the old fans,” he says, though you know he still lives for the stage.

“How about you?” he asks, his eyes landing on you. “Are you working on something right now?”

You glance at him, caught slightly off guard by the way his attention shifts so effortlessly from Tigerlily to you—gentle, but direct. Like he hasn’t asked in years, but he’s always been curious.

You nod slowly. “Yeah. A new book,” you add quickly, chuckling. “It's the same old thing with me.”

Chris grins, eyes crinkling in that way that used to undo you. “Of course,” he murmurs. “You’d make it sing, no matter what.”

Before you can respond, he reaches out—just casually—and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. It’s a simple gesture, something he’s done a thousand times, but it feels different now. Familiar, yes. But also fragile. Like it belongs to another version of yourselves.

You glance down, and Tigerlily watches it all with a knowing little smile curling at the edge of her lips. She doesn’t say anything. She just picks up another fry, pops it into her mouth, and mutters around her grin, “You two are so obvious.”

You both look at her—startled, defensive, amused.

“What?” Chris says, eyebrows raised.

“I didn’t say anything,” she sings, tossing you a wink. “Just... observing.”

You and Chris exchange a glance—brief but loaded.

And for a flicker of a moment, something shifts. Not loudly. Not urgently. Just... there. Still alive. Still quietly beating.

Not wanting to let it carry you on, you shift the attention back on him as curiosity taps at your shoulder.

“So,” you say, tilting your head and setting your glass down gently, “how’s Rowan?”

“Busy,” Chris answers a little too quickly and you didn't expect less since you're asking about his wife but you notice his expression shifts—just slightly. “She’s working on a TV series right now.”

“That’s wonderful,” You say as you nod, reaching for your glass of wine. “How about Riley?”

“She’s good,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Fourteen now. Which is… a whole thing.”

You smile softly. “Puberty, huh?”

“Puberty. Mood swings. Existential dread. She’s got this journal she guards like it's the nuclear codes. One second she’s hugging me and the next I’m the reason for global warming.”

You laugh, leaning back into the velvet booth. “Sounds like a riot.”

Chris sighs, but there’s affection beneath it. “She’s just at that age where everything feels like the end of the world, you know? I’m trying, but… I don’t think she knows where to put me right now.”

You nod gently, your fingers curling around the stem of your wine glass. “At least you didn’t have to go through that phase with Tigerlily,” you say with a teasing smile. “She skipped all the angst and went straight to being perfect.”

Tigerlily’s jaw drops, scandalized. “Excuse me?”

Chris laughs, leaning forward in anticipation.

“Mom,” Tigerlily says with a warning tone, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t you dare bring up—”

“—the blue eyeliner phase?” you interrupt sweetly. “Or the time you tried to cut your own bangs and cried for three hours?”

Chris nearly chokes on his water, face lighting up. “Oh my god, yes!” he laughs. “I remember that! She came with a hoodie on and wouldn’t take it off for two days!”

Tigerlily groans, burying her face in her hands. “This is actual betrayal.”

You’re laughing now, shoulders shaking as you reach over to pat her hand. “You were still cute. Even when your bangs were... slanted.”

Chris grins across the table, eyes sparkling. “She’s always been cute.”

Tigerlily lifts her head, glaring at you both. “You two ganging up on me is a hate crime.”

You share a look with Chris—soft and easy and full of old inside jokes—and for just a second, the world feels like it used to: three of you on the road, laughing about eyeliner and heartache, living out of suitcases and old songs.

Tigerlily’s still grinning though, even through her mock-offense. “God,” she mutters, shaking her head. “I forgot what it’s like when you two are in the same room.”

The plates are nearly empty now, forks slowing down as conversation takes over. Tigerlily is laughing at something Chris said about a funny episode happened at a show, and you're quietly sipping what’s left of your wine, content to just watch them exist like this—bright and close and connected.

Then Chris checks his watch with a sigh, the familiar shift in energy settling over the table. The end of the night.

“I’ve got to head out,” he says gently, looking toward Tigerlily with a reluctant smile. “Early flight to Tokyo. I'm helping this band with producing.”

Tigerlily pouts, her bottom lip pushing out the way she used to when she was five and didn’t want him to leave for tour. “Already?”

He opens his arms, and she rises without hesitation, burying herself in his chest like she’s still that little girl on the road, climbing into his bunk after shows. “Come here, little cub,” he murmurs into her hair, voice muffled but warm.

His arms wrap tight around her, his hands moving gently up and down her back in slow, comforting strokes. You watch from your seat, quiet and still, as he leans down to whisper something in her ear—something only for her. Her eyes flutter closed, lashes brushing against her cheeks, and she nods without speaking.

He presses a kiss to her temple before pulling back. “I’m proud of you,” he says, with a smile that breaks a little at the edges. “Always.”

Tigerlily wipes quickly at her eyes. “Text me when you land.”

“Promise.”

Chris turns to you next, his expression softening even further. He steps closer, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. “Thank you,” he says. “For tonight. For putting this together. I didn’t know how much I needed this.”

You wave a hand, trying to brush it off like it’s nothing. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

But when your eyes meet, there’s something there—unspoken but tangible. Like a thread still connecting you, stretching quietly between what you were and what you still might be. You’re the one to look away first, afraid if you don’t, you’ll forget yourself. Again.

He opens his arms, and this time it’s you stepping into them. The hug is brief, practiced, safe—but the warmth is real. His scent is still the same, something familiar and distant that tugs at the back of your throat.

“Take care,” you say softly, pulling back.

“You too,” he murmurs, before walking away.

You and Tigerlily step outside together just in time to see his car pull away from the curb, red taillights fading into the evening traffic. The moment stretches in silence until Tigerlily leans her head on your shoulder.

You wrap an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s moments like this,” you murmur, “that make me wish I could’ve given you the kind of family you deserved. One that stayed whole.”

Tigerlily doesn’t move for a second. Then she lifts her head, frowning a little. “But I did get a family,” she says. “Just a different kind. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

You hold her a little tighter, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze to ground you and in that moment—standing in the glow of the city lights, hearts full of love and loss—you let yourself believe that maybe different wasn’t always a bad thing.

-

The cursor blinks accusingly at the top of your blank document, waiting for you to stop procrastinating and start delivering something brilliant. You rub at your temples and glance at the email from your agent again—third reminder this month.

Hey, just checking in again on that chapter draft. Hope everything's alright. Deadline's creeping up—let me know if you need anything!

You sigh, reply with a vague promise of "soon" and click out of the inbox. But right as you're about to close your browser, something catches your eye.

A headline.

The Bang Theory Frontman Chris Bang and Wife Rowan Announce Divorce After 15 Years of Marriage

There’s a photo of them beneath the headline—Rowan in oversized sunglasses, Chris beside her, jaw tight. They look distant. You don't even need to read the article to know that smile on his face is the one he wears when he’s pretending everything’s fine. Still, you click.

The article is full of vague statements from publicists and “sources close to the couple.” Nothing scandalous. Just the usual—“growing apart,” “amicable,” “focused on co-parenting their daughter, Riley.”

You’re halfway through skimming the quotes when your phone suddenly rings, the sharp sound startling you so much your mouse skitters across the desk.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom!” Tigerlily’s voice is bright, a little rushed, like she’s walking fast somewhere. “Hey, is it okay if I bring someone over for dinner tonight?”

“Of course,” you say instinctively. “Anyone I know?”

There’s a pause. “Not yet. But you will.”

Your brow lifts. “Should I be nervous?”

Tigerlily laughs. “No. Maybe. A little. But mostly no. Love you!”

Before you can ask anything else, she hangs up. You stare at your phone for a second, then set it down beside your laptop.

The article’s still open. You look at the photo of Chris again. His expression is guarded, tired. You haven’t spoken in months—maybe longer. There’s a number in your contacts that hasn’t been used in too long. Just his name. Just “Chris,” like that’s all he’s ever needed to be.

You scroll down and hover your thumb over it. For a moment, you just sit there, staring at his name, thumb resting above “Call.” You wonder if he’s okay. If Riley’s okay. If he needs someone to talk to. If he even wants to hear your voice again.

But then your hand drops and you press the power button on your phone, letting the screen go dark. Some things are easier left in silence. You push the article aside, shut the laptop, and head for the kitchen.

There’s dinner to cook—and someone new to meet.

-

You’re just setting down the last of the cutlery when the doorbell rings. You wipe your hands on a kitchen towel and head for the front door, already guessing it’s Tigerlily. She never remembers to text when she’s close.

When you open the door, there she is—wearing a grin that says be cool, Mom—and beside her, a tall man with floppy brown hair, a shy smile, and arms full of flowers and wine.

“Hi, Mom,” she says sweetly. “This is Julian.”

“Hi,” he says quickly, stepping forward and offering the flowers. “It’s such an honor to meet you. I mean, you’re—I know who you are. I’ve seen your old interviews. Your film stuff. You’re even more beautiful in person.”

You blink, pleasantly amused, and take the flowers with a smile. “Oh, is that so?”

He nods, a little too eagerly.

With a small smirk, you take a step closer to him, lowering your voice just slightly. “You know… I’m not nearly as beautiful up close.”

Julian lets out a breathy little laugh, shoulders going stiff as his cheeks flush. “I—I mean, I think you definitely are. I mean, it’s not just your face. I mean, not just—” He throws a helpless glance at Tigerlily, who’s already rolling her eyes.

“Julian,” she cuts in dryly, “stop flirting with my mom.”

“I’m not—! I wasn’t—” He stammers, then finally gives up and laughs, brushing a hand through his hair. “Okay. Maybe just a little.”

You chuckle, stepping aside to let them in. “Well, come in, both of you. The food’s warm, the wine’s breathing, and apparently, I still have some star power.”

Tigerlily snorts as she kicks off her shoes. “You love it.”

You wink at her. “Of course I do.”

The dining table is cozy, the food still steaming in its dishes as the three of you settle in. Conversation flows easily at first—small talk, compliments about the meal, and the occasional sarcastic nudge from Tigerlily when Julian tries too hard to impress.

“So,” you begin, picking up your wine glass, eyes darting between the two of them. “Tell me—how did you two meet?”

Tigerlily doesn’t miss a beat. “At an art exhibition. He was standing in front of a piece I hated and we started arguing about it.”

Julian grins. “I maintain that it was a brilliant statement on digital isolation.”

“It was a pile of tangled wires and a single desk lamp,” she counters. “But apparently, that’s all it takes to find love.”

You laugh and tilt your head. “And how long have you been dating this tortured art soul?”

“Four months,” Tigerlily answers, her voice dipping into something soft, almost shy.

You hum thoughtfully, then turn to Julian with a gentle smile. “How old are you, Julian?”

Before he can even open his mouth, Tigerlily pipes up again, “He’s only a few years older than me, mom.”

You lift an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not his spokesperson, sweetheart?”

She flushes, biting her bottom lip as Julian chuckles beside her.

You nod, still looking at Julian. “And may I know what do you do?”

Again, Tigerlily jumps in, “He’s a data analyst.”

You slowly blink at her, lips curling into a knowing smile as you turn your attention fully on Julian. “Well, with a job like that, I’m sure Julian can answer my questions himself.”

Tigerlily lets out a sheepish laugh, covering her face with one hand. “Sorry. I just—habit, I guess. Go ahead, interrogate him. Just… please be nice.”

You laugh softly, giving her hand a quick pat. “Don’t worry, honey. I only interrogate the ones I like.”

Then you look back at Julian, folding your hands on the table like a queen giving audience.

“So, Mr. Data Analyst,” you say, eyes twinkling. “Tell me everything. Start with your worst trait and work your way up.”

Julian gulps dramatically, already smiling, and the table bursts into gentle laughter.

-

You’re scooping sorbet into little bowls when you feel Tigerlily’s presence beside you, her hand already reaching for the berry compote you made earlier.

“Need help?” she asks.

You nod. “You read my mind.”

The two of you move in sync, falling into an easy rhythm as she spoons sauce and you add mint leaves for garnish. After a moment, you glance toward the dining room where Julian is sipping his wine, politely waiting.

“He’s a little serious, your Julian,” you say lightly, nudging her with your elbow. “He always seems… nervous. A bit rigid.”

Tigerlily rolls her eyes. “He’s just shy, Mom.”

You smile knowingly. “He’s the complete opposite of your usual type.”

“Okay, ouch,” she retorts, though she’s clearly amused. “Maybe I’m growing up.”

You chuckle, bumping her hip playfully. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I can tell you fancy him. You’ve got that stupid little twinkle in your eyes.”

“Oh my God—” she groans, face turning red as you slide a bowl toward her and bump your hip against her again.

The soft music playing from the living room hums a dreamy melody, and without warning, you start dancing along to it, swaying your hips as you plate the last dessert.

Tigerlily watches in horror. “Please stop.”

You throw her a wink. “What? I’m not trying to embarrass you in front of your boyfriend.”

“Yes, you are!”

You let out a cackle, spinning once with your spoon in the air like a microphone. “You didn’t say I couldn’t entertain him.”

Tigerlily practically begs, “Mom, please, I’m trying to keep some mystery in this relationship!”

“Fine, fine,” you say, finally setting down the spoon. “I’ll stop torturing you—for now.”

You hand her the last plate, then glance at her gently. “Did you know about your dad and Rowan?”

Tigerlily nods, not surprised. “I'm honestly surprised that their marriage lasted that long.”

You hiss. “Tigerlily Bang.”

She nonchalantly shrugs in response. “What? I’m just being honest.”

You give her a look. “Have you called him?”

She hesitates. “I’m going to visit him next weekend. I’m… introducing Julian.”

You pause for a moment, then soften. “Be nice to him, okay? It probably wasn’t easy to him. Maybe just give him a call before that—ask if he’s okay.”

Tigerlily stays quiet, pressing her lips together. Then she nods, her voice soft. “Okay.”

You slide an arm around her shoulder and pull her in, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Good girl.”

Tigerlily leans into you for a moment. The kind of lean that says she’s still your little girl—even now. And then you’re back at it, nudging her with your hip again. “Now come on, sing with me. You know this part!”

“No, no, no—Mom!”

But she’s laughing as you start twirling, and eventually, she gives in, half-singing the chorus while the two of you finish plating desserts, moving in sync like the good old days.

Just as you’re setting the final plate down with a flourish, you hear someone clear their throat. You both turn.

Julian is standing at the kitchen doorway, blinking. “I—uh. Should I come back later?”

You and Tigerlily look at each other. Then you beam.

“She made me do it,” Tigerlily says instantly.

“Sure she did,” Julian grins.

-

At the end of the night, you walk them to the front door, the last of the dishes soaking in the sink and the music now reduced to a soft hum in the background. The night air is cool when you step outside, a gentle breeze brushing past as you follow Tigerlily and Julian to the car parked along the curb.

Tigerlily turns to you first, her eyes soft and glassy in the porch light. “Thanks for the lovely dinner, Mom.”

“Of course,” you say, pulling her in for a long, grounding hug. You squeeze her tighter than usual, feeling the familiar comfort of her arms wrapped around you—still your little girl, even with the grown-up job and the boyfriend waiting by the car. “I love you.”

“Love you more,” she mumbles into your shoulder.

You step back, brushing her hair from her face like you always do, and she gives you that shy smile she used to have when she was caught sneaking snacks before dinner. Then she walks over to the passenger side, leaving Julian standing awkwardly at the bottom of the steps.

“Thank you again, ma’am,” he says, wringing his hands slightly.

You give him a look, amused. “Ma’am makes me feel ancient.”

He swallows. “Right. Sorry. I mean—thank you for having me.”

You step forward, resting a hand lightly on his arm. “You’re welcome, Julian. And for what it’s worth…” You pause, smiling. “You’ve made quite an impression tonight.”

He exhales a laugh, relieved. “That’s good to hear.”

“Drive safe, okay?”

“I will,” he says, nodding a little too eagerly.

You step back as he gets into the car. Tigerlily waves at you through the window, and you wave back, your arms folding over your chest as you watch the headlights blink on. They pull away slowly, the car disappearing down the quiet street.

You stay there for a moment on the porch, your fingers brushing your elbows, listening to the stillness of the night settling in around you and even though it’s quiet, your heart feels full.

You close the door behind you and lean your back against it for a second, letting the silence of your home settle over your shoulders. You walk into the living room and glance at your phone on the coffee table. You hesitate, then reach for it.

Your thumb hovers over Chris’s name in your contacts.

You check the time—too early to be asleep, too late to know what he’s up to. Probably pacing around his house with his guitar strapped to his chest, or lying on his couch with the TV on and his mind elsewhere.

Still, before you can talk yourself out of it, you press call. The line rings once. Twice. A third time. You shift your weight, ready to hit “end” when—

Click.

“Hello?”

You blink at the sound of his voice, low and familiar through the speaker. “Guess what?” you say, your tone light, almost teasing.

“What?” he asks, curious.

“Your daughter just brought her boyfriend over for dinner.”

There’s a beat of silence. “She what?”

You laugh. “His name’s Julian. Very polite. Very nervous. He looks like he’d rather face a firing squad than meet me.”

Chris groans. “Great. That’s exactly the kind of guy who’d try to steal my daughter from me.”

“She’s not being stolen, she’s dating.”

“Same thing.”

You smile to yourself, curling your legs under you on the couch. “They’re going to visit you next weekend. Be nice.”

“Define nice.”

“Chris.”

“Okay, okay,” he sighs. “I’ll give him a chance. But I’m not promising I won’t make him sweat a little.”

You chuckle. “That’s your job, I suppose.”

A silence stretches between you, not uncomfortable—just weighted with history. You take a breath before saying, “So I uh... I saw the news.”

Another pause.

“I was going to call earlier,” you continue, gently. “But I didn’t know if you’d want to talk. Are you okay?”

Chris lets out a quiet breath. “I’m… getting through it.”

“How’s Riley handling it?”

“She’s…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “She looks okay, but I don't know.”

You hum in agreement. “Check on her once in a while to let her know you're there if she wants to talk about it.”

“Yeah, I will,” he mutters, sounding defeated.

“You know,” you say with a small, lopsided smile, “at least your second marriage lasted longer than ours.”

Chris chuckles, the sound softer this time. “Low bar.”

“You set it, not me.”

There’s a quiet moment again. Then your voice softens. “I mean it, Chris. If you ever need to talk, or vent, or scream into the phone—I’m here, okay? As much as I hate it… you’re still my daughter’s father.”

He exhales slowly, and you can hear it through the phone, like something he’s been holding in is finally slipping out.

“I miss it,” he says suddenly.

You blink. “Miss what?”

“This,” he says simply. “Talking to you.”

You swallow. The lump in your throat arrives fast, uninvited. “I should let you rest,” you say quietly, clearing your throat before your voice can crack. “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Thanks for calling.”

“Anytime.”

You hang up before the silence turns into something else. Something too close. Too familiar. You set the phone down and lean your head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

And for a while, you just sit there bcause sometimes, missing someone is quieter than you expect.

-

Summer sunlight spills through your kitchen windows, casting warm, golden streaks on the hardwood floor as you pack the last of your sunscreen and sunglasses into a tote bag. The hum of cicadas fills the air from outside, and you can already hear Tigerlily’s voice carrying from the living room—teasing, excited, just a little chaotic, as always.

Julian stands nearby, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, his hands tucked into the pockets of his shorts. He’s always been a little stiff around you, still nervous after all this time, but today… it feels different. Extra twitchy.

“Hey,” he says quietly, catching your attention just as Tigerlily calls out that she’s running to the bathroom to reapply her sunscreen.

You turn to him, eyebrow raised. “Everything okay?”

“Can I—” he clears his throat, gestures toward the back door. “Can I talk to you for a second? Just… out there?”

You eye him for a beat, curious, then nod and follow him onto the back porch. The breeze is warm, but there's a nervous chill rolling off of him.

He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flitting toward the floorboards. “I, um. I wanted to ask you something.”

You fold your arms loosely, head tilting. “Okay…”

“I know this might seem fast,” he begins, eyes finally meeting yours, “but I’m going to propose to Tigerlily today. On the boat. I’ve been planning it for a while.”

You blink. The words hang in the summer air like a firework frozen mid-explosion. Your mouth opens slightly, but no words come right away. You stare at him, heart swelling and squeezing all at once.

Julian continues quickly, hands half-raised in panic. “I know we’ve only been together for a little over a year, but I love her. She’s everything I’ve ever hoped for, and I want to build a life with her. And I—I wanted to ask your permission, before anything else.”

It is fast. But you’ve seen the way she looks at him, how he looks at her. The way they orbit each other like two stars pulled by gravity stronger than reason. You’ve watched them fall in sync like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And he’s never once made you doubt his intentions.

You smile softly, eyes going a little glassy. “Well,” you begin gently, “you’ve been nothing but a wonderful boyfriend to my daughter. And you clearly adore her.” You pause, reaching out to lightly touch his arm. “So yes. You have my blessing, Julian.”

His shoulders drop in visible relief and he lets out a small, nervous laugh. “Thank you. Really. That means the world to me.”

Just then, the door opens behind you, and Tigerlily’s voice cuts through the moment. “What are you two doing out here?”

Julian spins on his heel a little too fast, and you clear your throat quickly, your brain scrambling for the first believable thing. “Julian was helping me, uh… figure out the sprinkler. It’s acting weird.”

She narrows her eyes. “The sprinkler?”

“Yep,” you nod, way too quickly. “Super weird. Total mystery.”

Julian gives a stiff little smile, playing along. “We, uh, think it’s the pressure valve.”

“Okay…” she says slowly, clearly not that interested. “Well, come on. Let’s go. The boat’s not going to wait for us.”

You grab your bag and follow her out the door, heart still racing a little from the moment you just shared. Julian gives you a grateful glance as he opens the car door for Tigerlily.

And as you sit in the passenger seat, watching the two of them exchange playful banter and knowing glances on the way to the dock, something in your chest softens.

Tigerlily is happy. That’s all you’ve ever wanted.

-

The dock stretches out before you like a ribbon of sun-bleached wood, groaning faintly beneath your steps. The sea sparkles under the sun, dazzling and blue, dotted with boats and the occasional flash of seagulls flying over the sunny sky. Julian walks ahead, a few steps in front of you, leading the way to his family's boat.

He turns around as you reach the boat, climbing down to the edge and holding out a hand. “Here, let me help you guys on.”

Tigerlily climbs on first, holding onto the railing before turning back to you with a grin. You pause, just for a second, taking in the image of her—sunlight in her hair, smile wide and easy, laugh lines already forming around her eyes—and something about it makes your throat tighten.

Julian offers his hand to you next. “You okay?” he asks softly.

You nod, pressing your lips together as you take his hand.

“Yeah,” you say, stepping onto the boat. “More than okay.”

Tigerlily helps you with your bag, the two of you settling in as Julian introduces you to the rest of the guests on board. He offers his hand again as he helps you up a narrow stair to the upper deck, guiding you through the boat with gentle ease. “Come on, let me give you the grand tour.”

You follow him with a soft chuckle, brushing your hair away from your face as the wind picks up. The boat is beautiful—sleek, well-kept, definitely not the kind of thing you expected to find yourself on this summer.

He leads you into a cozy lounge area, where his parents are seated on a cushioned bench, sipping drinks and chatting quietly. They both rise when Julian gestures toward them.

“Mom, Dad—this is Tigerlily’s mom.”

His mother greets you first with a warm smile, her hand extended. “We’re so happy to finally meet you. Thank you for joining us today.”

You take her hand and return the smile, nodding. “Thank you for having me. It’s a beautiful boat.”

Julian’s dad nods along. “Julian’s told us a lot about you,” he says kindly. “You raised a wonderful daughter.”

You laugh lightly, brushing off the compliment. “She pretty much raised herself, honestly.”

You move on to another corner of the deck where a younger girl sits with headphones half off her ears.

“This is my little sister, Maude,” Julian taps her shoulder, and she pulls them off, blinking up at you with instant recognition.

“Oh my God,” she says before she even stands. “You’re her. I knew you looked familiar.”

You blink, a little caught off guard. “Her?”

“Her, as in you,” she insists with a grin. “You’re—wow—you’re even more beautiful in person. My girlfriend, Alexa, is going to freak.”

Before you can respond, she’s already pulling her phone out. “Lex!” she calls. “Come here—come meet Tigerlily’s mom!”

A second later, a tall girl with red curls appears from below deck, raising a brow. “What—”

“She’s right here,” Maude says, practically bouncing. “Isn’t she stunning?”

You press a hand to your chest, laughing shyly as you look away. “Okay, okay, I think that’s enough of that,” you say. “You’re all going to make me too self-conscious to stay on this boat.”

Fortunately, Julian swoops in, hand landing lightly on your shoulder. “Alright, you two, quit scaring my girlfriend's mom,” he teases before turning to you. “Come on—front deck’s clearing up. Let’s relax a little.”

You nod gratefully, and he guides you to the front of the boat where cushioned seats curve around the bow. Tigerlily’s already lounging there, hair whipping in the breeze, sunglasses perched on her nose.

Julian hands her a kiss on the lips—quick, sweet—and tells her, “I’m getting us drinks. Be right back.”

He disappears down into the cabin again, and the sound of the water takes over.

Tigerlily turns to you, pulling her sunglasses up into her hair. “See?” she says. “Everyone loves having you here.”

You roll your eyes playfully, folding your legs beneath you as you settle into the cushions. “They’re being polite.”

“They’re being real,” she insists. “Especially Maude. I think she’s about to print out your Wikipedia page and frame it.”

You laugh, and she grins wide.

“And especially me,” she adds with a meaningful look. “I love having you here.”

You reach over and brush her cheek with your knuckles, your heart tugging at the corners. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

The boat rocks gently as the three of you lounge on the front deck, sun cascading over everything in a golden glaze. You’re tucked in one corner with a book in hand and sunglasses shading your eyes, only half-focused on the page. From your peripheral vision, you catch glimpses of Tigerlily curled up against Julian, their conversation floating around like soft background music—something about a movie he promised to watch, something else about her weird dream last night. You smile faintly at their easy affection, eyes dropping back to your book—until a shadow lengthens beside you.

Someone joins the group. You can feel it immediately, like a ripple in the calm. Not just the presence, but the weight of a gaze on you—curious, unwavering. You glance up briefly, eyes peeking over the rim of your sunglasses.

It’s someone you haven’t seen before. A tall, lithe man with buzzcut hair and delicate, striking features that contrast sharply with the sharpness of his frame. His eyes linger on you in a way that feels oddly direct, and it’s only when he finally speaks that the spell breaks.

“Hey, who’s this?” he asks, his voice smooth, amused.

Julian blinks, glancing between you and the man. “Oh—right. Hyunjin, this is Tigerlily’s mom.”

Hyunjin’s mouth twitches into a small smile as he steps closer and extends his hand. You slip your bookmark in place and close the book, slipping off your sunglasses. His hand is warm in yours, long fingers wrapping around gently—but his eyes, they hold your gaze like they’re reading something in you.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” he says, voice low, and then adds with absolutely no hesitation, “You’re really beautiful.”

Tigerlily bursts into sudden laughter, her hand flying to cover her mouth. “Hyunjin!” she gasps. “Are you trying to hit on my mom?”

“So what if I am?” he says, totally unbothered, still looking at you.

You feel a heat rise to your cheeks—not the sun, this time.

Julian groans good-naturedly. “Hyunjin, why did you think I’m dating the daughter, not the mom? She’s the it girl of the ’90s, man.”

Tigerlily gives Julian a glare before elbows him on the side.

“I had no idea,” Hyunjin says, his gaze not leaving yours. “I just know she’s beautiful.”

You’re not used to compliments like this anymore—not said so earnestly and with such ease. You laugh lightly, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear as you give a polite, slightly flustered smile. “Well, thank you.”

Tigerlily, still grinning, leans over to nudge Julian. “He missed the part where you say in the ‘90s, right? Like… a while ago.”

Hyunjin just shrugs, his tone almost challenging. “Like I care about that.”

Tigerlily blinks at him. Then turns to you. You raise your brows, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. You try to return to your book, but the page blurs a little. Not from the sun, not from the wind—but because there’s something about the way Hyunjin is still watching you like there’s more to read in you than the pages you’re holding.

The boat stops once it's far enough from the shore and the splashing sound coming from the side of the boat startles you. You fumble to check only to find Julian’s sister, Maude, has jumped into the sea.

You decide to sit at the edge of the boat, legs curled beneath you, a cold drink in one hand and the sun warming your shoulders as Tigerlily, Julian and Alexa are also jumping into the water, splashing around like kids, their laughter echoing over the waves. You watch them with a fond smile, chin resting on your palm, feeling oddly full just witnessing your daughter so happy. Then, you hear it.

Click. Click.

Your head turns instinctively toward the sound, and there he is—Hyunjin—standing a few feet away with a camera in hand, lowering it with a guilty smile when he notices you’ve caught him.

“Sorry,” he says, not looking sorry at all. “I just… couldn’t help it.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, half-amused, half-incredulous. “Were you just taking pictures of me?”

He shrugs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I was. You're beautiful—it’s hard not to.”

That makes you let out a breathy, surprised laugh, half-shy, half-entertained. You shake your head, glancing back out to the sea like it’ll cool your blush. “You’re something else.”

“Hyunjin,” he says, finally coming closer and offering his hand again, this time more properly. “I don’t think I introduced myself earlier.”

You take his hand again, noting how warm and familiar it already feels in yours. “Nice to meet you, Hyunjin. I take it you and Julian go way back?”

He leans casually against the rail beside you, his sunglasses hanging off the collar of his shirt. “High school. He was exactly the same back then. Sweet. Smart. Terrible at talking to girls.”

You grin. “So you’re saying he’s always been this… nervous?”

“Like a scared puppy,” Hyunjin confirms, laughing. “But the kind that would take a bullet for the people he loves. You don’t have to worry about Tigerlily. He worships her.”

You nod softly at that, touched. “That’s very reassuring. Thank you.”

Hyunjin looks at you for a beat, then tilts his head. “Aren’t you curious to know about me?”

You laugh. “Are you offering up a full character profile?”

“Only the interesting parts,” he says with a wink. “Let’s see… I’m a pottery artist. I throw clay for a living. Julian actually met Tigerlily at one of my exhibits, so I’ll take partial credit for their love story.”

“Wow,” you smile. “Multitalented and a matchmaker.”

“And single,” he adds, eyes sparkling. “Also, apparently… recently discovering I might have a thing for older women.”

You laugh—a real one this time, unfiltered and light—and toss your head back slightly. “Oh, is that so?”

Hyunjin leans a little closer, voice low and teasing. “You’re kind of making it hard not to.”

Your gaze flickers to his—those sharp eyes softened by sunlight and mischief—and you find yourself laughing again, caught completely off guard by how amused, how seen you feel in that moment.

It’s been a long time since someone made you feel this way. Curious. Flattered. Just a little bit reckless. And the fact that it’s someone like him only makes it worse—and better.

-

The sun is hanging low over the horizon, spilling its golden light across the calm sea, and you’re in the kitchen galley, shoulder to shoulder with Julian’s mother as you help prepare dinner for everyone. The boat gently sways beneath your feet, and the sounds of laughter and soft music drift in from the deck. There’s something peaceful about it—this simple, domestic moment, so different from the chaos your life once knew.

Fresh from her shower, Tigerlily joins you, her cheeks still flushed from the sun and her hair damp around her shoulders. “Smells good in here,” she says, bumping her hip against yours as she grabs a stack of plates and starts setting the table on the back deck.

You're watching her, quietly smiling, when Julian appears beside her, freshly changed into dry clothes. He takes her hand gently and calls, “Hyunjin, hey—would you mind taking a few photos of us with the sunset?”

You glance over, your heart skipping a beat. So this is it.

Hyunjin, camera in hand, gives a playful salute and positions them with their backs to the sunset. “Alright, stand right there. A little closer. Julian, put your hand around her waist… yeah, perfect. Lils, look out at the ocean.”

Tigerlily does as she’s told, oblivious and relaxed.

Julian’s other hand slips into the pocket of his pants. You freeze where you stand, breath catching in your throat. Julian slowly pulls out a small velvet box.

“Okay, now, Lils,” Hyunjin calls gently, “turn around and look at Julian.”

She spins playfully, half-laughing—until her eyes land on him. She goes still. Her breath stutters.

Everyone else falls quiet.

Julian is on one knee, holding the box open, his face awash in the soft, fading sunlight. You grip the edge of the table, your heart racing in your chest.

“I knew from the moment I saw you at that gallery that I wanted to know everything about you,” Julian begins, voice a little shaky but clear. “I love how your laugh comes out before your jokes do. I love that you always steal fries off my plate even though you say you’re not hungry. I love that when I’m with you, I don’t feel like I need to be anyone else.”

Tigerlily blinks, tears welling fast in her eyes.

“You make everything feel like home,” Julian continues, his own eyes glassy. “And I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way. Will you marry me?”

It hits you like a wave—pride, joy, a strange ache in your chest like you were the one being asked, you were the girl in love with the sea glowing behind her.

Tigerlily gasps, a hand over her mouth, and then—she nods. “Yes,” she chokes out. “Yes, Julian.”

Cheers erupt around the boat. Julian slips the ring onto her finger, his hands trembling, and then stands to kiss her, slow and reverent, with the ocean breeze dancing through their hair.

You blink back tears, feeling them slip down anyway—and then a gentle arm wraps around your shoulders. Julian’s mother. She gives you a knowing squeeze, her own eyes shiny with emotion. “It’s something else, isn’t it?” she murmurs.

You nod, biting your lip to keep from crying harder. “It really is.”

And as Tigerlily and Julian hold each other beneath the peach-streaked sky, their silhouettes backlit by the fading sun, you can’t help but whisper under your breath, “My little girl’s getting married.”

You’re still trying to collect yourself, when you hear the hurried footsteps—barefoot and light—and then suddenly, she’s there.

Tigerlily throws herself into your arms, nearly knocking the wind out of you. She’s laughing, breathless, trembling with joy as she hugs you tight.

“Mom!” she exclaims, pulling away just enough to hold her hand out in front of you. “Look!”

The ring glints under the fading sunlight, elegant and simple, but it might as well be the crown jewel by the way she’s staring at it, eyes wide, still dazed. “I’m getting married,” she says in a whisper, like she doesn’t believe the words even as she speaks them. “I’m actually getting married.”

You nod, slow and soft, swallowing hard against the lump forming in your throat. “You are,” you manage, voice thick with emotion. “You really are.”

And then you pull her back into your arms, wrapping her up like you did when she was small, when she’d scrape her knee or have a bad dream or just need her mom.

“Are you happy, little cub?” you murmur against her hair.

She pulls back just far enough to meet your eyes, cheeks still wet from tears but her smile—oh, her smile is luminous. “Yes,” she says, with a kind of certainty that steadies your heartbeat. “I’m so, so happy.”

You nod again, brushing her hair gently back from her face, your fingers lingering at her temple.

“If you’re happy,” you whisper, “then I’m happy.”

You lean in, kiss her softly on the temple, and for a moment, the world falls still. It’s just the two of you—mother and daughter, hearts full, tears barely held back, connected by something deeper than words.

Then Julian approaches, his steps quiet but purposeful, and you break the hug to turn to him. His face is still flushed from the proposal, his eyes a little watery, but he smiles at you—nervous again, like always. You step into his arms and hug him too, firm and warm.

“Congratulations,” you whisper. “Take good care of her, will you?”

“I will,” he says, voice a little shaky. “I promise.”

When you pull back, Tigerlily is beaming at both of you, and then she takes Julian’s hand, and just like that—the celebration continues.

Dinner is served on the upper deck under a string of fairy lights. Music plays, laughter rings out across the boat, and champagne glasses clink in celebration. Everyone is radiant—Maude and Alexa dancing barefoot, Julian’s parents looking proud, Hyunjin snapping candids in the golden hour light, and you—

You sit back for a moment, just watching. Watching your daughter. Your daughter, laughing with her fiancé, cheeks flushed with happiness, her whole future ahead of her.

A mix of emotions rolls through you—pride, awe, disbelief, joy, and that familiar ache that comes with letting go. You think of all the versions of Tigerlily you’ve loved: the little girl with scraped knees and messy braids, the teen who rolled her eyes but still hugged you goodnight, the woman now, who wears engagement rings and about to be someone's wife.

And something blooms in your chest, wide and full. Not just joy—but peace. Profound, bone-deep peace. In this moment, you feel it completely. You are happy.

-

The house feels impossibly still after a day so full of life. You move through the quiet halls, still smelling faintly of salt and sunblock, your bag abandoned by the front door. The lights are dimmed low, just enough to guide your way to the bedroom. You’re halfway through brushing your teeth when your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Chris.

You hesitate before picking up. It’s late. But you know him—you know that if he’s calling at this hour, it’s not casual. You slide your finger across the screen and press the phone to your ear. “Hey.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then— “She’s getting married.”

His voice is low, worn out. Not angry. Not sad. Just… broken.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, your breath catching slightly. “She called you?”

“Just hung up,” he says. “She was so excited. Said it like she couldn’t believe it herself.”

You smile faintly. “She was glowing all day, Chris. You should've seen it.”

Chris lets out a laugh—quiet, hollow. “I remember when she used to light up like that just from sitting on my shoulders.”

There’s a long pause, one of those where neither of you needs to speak to understand the ache the other is carrying. “I know it’s stupid,” he finally says, “but it feels like I’m being cheated on. Like—she was mine. My baby. My little cub. And now some guy gets to come in and just—just take over. Call her his family.”

You close your eyes, pressing your lips together. “It’s not stupid.”

“I used to be her whole world,” he says, his voice cracking. “Now I’m... a scheduled phone call. A guest at her wedding.”

You lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, your heart heavy with a quiet ache. “You’ll always be her dad, Chris. Nothing will ever take that from you.”

He sighs, and you can hear the way he’s holding back more. Memories. Emotions. Regrets.

“I missed so much already,” he mutters. “Her graduation. Her first heartbreak. All those stupid in-between things. I thought maybe I’d have more time.”

“You’ll have different moments now,” you say gently. “Maybe not the same ones. But new ones. Important ones.”

Chris goes quiet, and for a second, you wonder if he’s still on the line. Then, softly, he asks, “Did you cry?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Of course I did.”

“I wish I could’ve seen her,” he says. “Wish I could’ve been there. With you. For her.”

You swallow the sudden lump in your throat. “She looked so much like you when she said yes,” you whisper.

That gets him. You hear the hitch in his breath. The rest of the night is spent like that—Chris talking, remembering, grieving something that was never really lost, just changed. And you listen, the way only someone who’s loved him deeply once can. You let him be selfish, fragile, ridiculous—because this isn’t about being rational.

This is about love.

And when he finally falls silent, you whisper, “We did good, you know. Raising her.”

There’s a long silence before he murmurs, “Yeah. We really did.”

You set your phone down gently on the nightstand, the screen going black like the closing of a curtain. The house is quiet again, but the silence feels different now—thicker somehow, like it’s holding something inside of it. You lean back against the pillows, exhaling slowly as your eyes drift up to the ceiling.

It’s not just you.

That’s the thought that settles over you like a blanket. You’re not the only one caught in this strange in-between—between the past and the future, between holding on and letting go. Chris, too, is reeling. Grasping. Feeling like he’s losing something he thought he had more time with. There’s a quiet comfort in knowing that.

Because tonight, watching Tigerlily say yes with the sunset blazing behind her, part of you had felt like you were standing still while the rest of the world moved on without asking. Like everything was changing too fast, too soon.

But now, lying here in the soft hum of the night, you realize that maybe change doesn’t have to be something to fear. Maybe it’s just a new season arriving—quiet, inevitable, and hopefully, kind.

You turn your head, eyes landing on a photo of Tigerlily on your dresser. She’s younger in this one, her cheeks round, her smile toothy. You remember taking it. You remember everything. You smile faintly. Maybe this is what growing up looks like—not just for her, but for you, too.

And maybe it’s all changing for the better.

-

It’s a slow Saturday afternoon when you hear the familiar creak of your front door opening and Tigerlily’s voice calling out, “Mom?”

You glance up from your notebook, pen still in hand, and before you can answer, she’s already walking into the kitchen like she owns the place—as she always has—plopping her purse on the counter and reaching straight for the cookie jar.

“You want something?” you ask without looking up, grinning as you hear her bite into a cookie.

“Yeah,” she says around a mouthful, “I want you to come out with me tonight.”

That gets your attention. You raise an eyebrow as you swivel in your chair, playful curiosity in your voice. “Wow, inviting your mom out on a Saturday night? What, Julian couldn’t make it?”

From the kitchen, she groans. “He’s been swamped at work this week. He said he might fall asleep standing if he tries to go out tonight.”

You smile as you stand and stretch. “So I’m the backup plan.”

“No,” she says pointedly, another bite of cookie halfway to her mouth, “you’re the main event. I wanted to spend time with you. Before I become someone’s wife.”

You’re halfway to the kitchen when she says that, and your steps falter just a little—just enough to register the weight of her words. You reach her side and pluck a cookie from the jar, mirroring her stance, leaning against the counter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask softly, a teasing edge to your voice.

Tigerlily doesn’t answer—not with words. She just gives you a knowing look, the kind of look that says everything without saying much at all. And you know. You know what she means.

That she won’t always be yours first.

So you gently pat the top of her head, a silent acknowledgment of what’s changing—of what will never change, too.

And then you take a bite of your cookie, brushing the moment aside with practiced ease. “So where are you taking me, future wife?”

She perks up, cookie forgotten. “There’s this art exhibition downtown—Julian got me the invite—and I thought maybe after, we could get drinks or something. Just us.”

You nod, finishing your cookie. “Alright then. Let me go throw on something cool and age-appropriate.”

“Please do,” she says with a smirk. “Because you’re about to be seen with a young woman.”

You flick a crumb at her, already walking away. “Then I better wear heels. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking I’m your mother or something.”

The city hums quietly around you as Tigerlily drives, her fingers drumming lightly against the wheel to the rhythm of the song on the radio. The sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting golden light across her face—her cheekbones highlighted, her eyes focused, her lips painted a shade that suits her too well.

You’re watching her in silence, your elbow propped on the car door, cheek resting against your hand. It hits you all at once—how grown she is. Not just older, but grown. A woman. Not just your daughter, but someone’s partner. Someone who knows what she wants, who walks into rooms with her head high and her heart wide open.

She catches your stare during a red light and raises a brow. “Do I have something on my face?”

You blink yourself back into the moment and smile softly. “No. I just… I like your lipstick.”

She grins. “It’s in my bag if you want to use it.”

You reach down and grab her purse from the floor, fishing through it. Lipstick, sunglasses, tissues, receipts, mints—and a folded, glossy brochure catches your eye.

You pull it out, unfolding it. “Is this the exhibition we’re going to?”

Tigerlily glances over. “Yeah. Julian’s firm helped sponsor it.”

You scan the list of artists until a familiar name stops you cold. Hwang Hyunjin.

Your brow arches. “Wait. Is this… the Hyunjin I met on the boat?”

Tigerlily’s grin is instant, wicked, and wide.

“Yes,” she says, dragging out the word. “That Hyunjin.”

You slide her a look.

“Oh my god,” she says dramatically, “you totally forgot he was an artist, didn’t you?”

You feign innocence, setting the brochure in your lap. “I didn’t forget. I just didn’t know he was showing here.”

She laughs, delighted, tapping the wheel. “You like him.”

“I don’t like him.”

“You do. You got all flustered the second he called you beautiful.”

You roll your eyes. “Tigerlily.”

“Mom.”

You look out the window, but you’re smiling now, the kind that tugs at the corner of your lips despite yourself. And she sees it.

“Oh my god, you do like him.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “He’s like, what, twelve?”

She snorts. “He’s as old as Julian.”

You glance back at her. “That’s not better.”

“That’s hot,” she says instead. “You’ve still got it.”

You shoot her a look. “Please stop.”

You hadn’t expected to feel nervous—this wasn’t a date, it was an art exhibition with your daughter. But ever since spotting his name on that brochure, there’s been a flutter of something low in your stomach, delicate and unshakable.

You walk beside Tigerlily into the exhibition, all clean lines and soft lighting. Art lines the walls—paintings, sculptures, ceramics—and you try to keep your eyes on them, but you can feel it. His gaze.

And when you look up—there he is. Hyunjin, standing near a tall display of pottery, dressed in relaxed black slacks and a linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His buzzcut somehow makes his cheekbones look sharper, but it’s the way his eyes immediately find you that makes your breath hitch.

Tigerlily grabs your hand and tugs you toward him. “Let’s go say hi to your potter boy.”

You gently swat her arm but don’t argue.

Hyunjin straightens as the two of you approach, a soft, knowing smile spreading across his face. His eyes flick between Tigerlily and you, but linger on you—open, unbothered, like he has no intention of pretending otherwise. “Hi,” he says simply, like the word is meant only for you.

Tigerlily grins. “Congratulations, Hyunjin. This whole thing is incredible. The colors, the forms—like, it’s weirdly emotional. I didn’t expect to feel something over clay.”

Hyunjin nods, appreciative. “Thank you,” he says, and then, softer, to you, “I’m glad you came.”

You swallow, fingers tightening slightly around your clutch. “It’s beautiful. Everything.”

Tigerlily glances between the two of you, and you catch the flicker of realization in her eyes. Her gaze lingers on Hyunjin, then you. A smile curves her lips, but she doesn’t say anything—just lightly touches your arm.

“I’m gonna get us some drinks,” she says, far too casually. “You two go ahead and talk about... I'll just go.”

Before you can say anything, she’s already turning away, leaving you alone with Hyunjin in the middle of his world.

Hyunjin smiles, as if this was always meant to happen. “Would you like a tour?” he asks. “I’ll show you my favorites.”

You nod, trying to collect yourself as he leads you across the room to a display of delicate, curved vases and explains a bit about it.

“Have you ever worked with clay?” he asks, that slight tilt to his voice—casual, but laced with suggestion.

You shake your head. “I don’t know the first thing about pottery. But it’s… really beautiful.”

“I could teach you,” he says.

You laugh, a little flustered. “I’m sure you’re busy.”

“For you, I’d make time.”

It’s so simple, the way he says it. No hesitation. No games. And that’s what throws you.

You look at him, really look—and he’s looking at you like you’re the centerpiece of the exhibition, like he curated the entire room just to bring you here. It’s intense, that kind of attention. Unapologetic.

“I doubt I’d be any good at it,” you say, trying to deflect.

“Come to my studio,” he says. “Let’s find out.”

His voice is low, but not pressing. Just enough to leave space—for you to lean in or walk away. But his eyes… his eyes are burning. Admiring. Wanting. A quiet pull you can’t quite escape.

You break the gaze, looking down at the smooth glaze of the pot nearest you, your fingers brushing lightly over its curve. Hyunjin’s smile deepens, and you don’t have to look at him to know. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

And somehow, you don’t hate it.

-

After the exhibition, you and Tigerlily settle into a cozy booth at a bar just down the street from the gallery. The music is mellow, the lights low and golden, and the clinking of glasses and quiet hum of conversation wrap around you like a blanket. You each have a drink in hand—something fruity and pink in Tigerlily’s, something simpler in yours.

You sip, exhale, and lean back. “Well… that was unexpectedly interesting.”

Tigerlily’s lips curve around the rim of her glass. “You mean the exhibition?” she teases.

You lift an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling him now?”

She laughs, a full, unfiltered sound. “I saw you and Hyunjin, you know. Sneaking off for your little pottery tour.”

You feign a gasp, dramatically clutching your chest. “What are you saying, Tigerlily? You want a new dad?”

She chokes on her drink, coughing through her laughter. “Oh my God, please don’t ever say that again.”

You grin as you stir your drink with the little straw. “Just checking.”

But then, her tone shifts—still playful, but more earnest now. “I’m serious, though. I think it’s a good time for you to start dating again.”

You glance at her sideways, teasing, “Oh? So you’ve finally given up on the dream of me and your dad running off into the sunset?”

Tigerlily chuckles, soft and knowing. “I mean… yeah. I used to hope, but now? I just want you to be happy. However that looks.”

Something in you stirs. It’s not sadness—not quite—but something tender. Moved. You coo, placing your hand over hers on the table. “You’re all grown up now, aren’t you?”

She gives you a sheepish smile, then rolls her eyes as she groans, “Even if that happiness means Hyunjin becomes my stepdad. Ew.”

You burst into laughter. “He’s not—Tigerlily!”

“I’m just saying,” she lifts her hands in defense, eyes wide, “if it ever comes to that, I’ll be supportive. Slightly traumatized, but supportive.”

You laugh until your chest aches, then sigh as you cradle your glass between your hands. “I don’t know… dating at my age, it feels kind of—”

Tigerlily gasps. “Don’t even start with that age talk.”

You shrug, playful but honest. “It just seems a little late to open up my heart again.”

She leans forward, voice soft but firm. “Then don’t open it wide. Just crack the window a little. Let some air in. You never know what might fly through.”

You look at her, this remarkable woman you raised, and something about her words nestles itself right under your ribs. “I’m not saying it has to be Hyunjin,” she adds, sly smile returning. “But… you could do worse.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile that lifts your lips is genuine. “You’re kind of sweet when you’re not being annoying.”

She raises her glass. “To annoying daughters who want their moms to be ridiculously happy.”

You clink glasses with her, the sound small but meaningful and for the first time in a long while, the idea of something new—something a little wild, a little uncertain—doesn’t scare you. Not when you’ve come this far. Not when your daughter is rooting for your heart.

-

So here you are, standing in front of the brick building tucked into a quiet corner of the city, the late afternoon sun casting warm shadows across its facade. The metal plaque reads Studio Hwang in a clean, simple font. You pause at the door, your hand hovering just before the handle.

This doesn't mean you're going to open your heart.

You're not here to be charmed or swept off your feet or written into some kind of romantic plot twist. No. You’re here because—well, because you were curious. And maybe a little flattered. And maybe, maybe, you wanted to try something new.

You exhale through your nose, give a small nod to yourself. Who knows, you think, maybe I’ll like it. So you push the door open.

Inside, the soft hum of conversation mingles with the earthy scent of clay and dust. Afternoon light spills through the high windows, warming the space in golden hues. Shelves are lined with ceramic pieces—some smooth and glazed, others raw and half-finished, waiting to become something more.

You spot Hyunjin almost immediately. He’s across the room, mid-conversation with someone—maybe a buyer, maybe a fellow artist, you’re not sure. He’s gesturing toward a set of tall vases, his tone focused, expressive. He hasn’t seen you yet.

For a moment, you hesitate. Your instinct tells you to step back outside, to give yourself an out before this becomes something real.

But then Hyunjin turns. He catches sight of you—and his entire face lights up. His smile is instant, genuine, radiant in a way that makes you forget you were just about to retreat.

“I’m happy to see you,” he says, stepping away from his conversation without hesitation. “You came.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you say, glancing briefly toward the person he was speaking with, your hand still loosely gripping the strap of your bag. “I can come back later, if you’re busy.”

But Hyunjin’s reaction is immediate. He takes a small step toward you, shaking his head with a pleading softness in his eyes. “No. Don’t go.”

You blink, a little surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

“I was just finishing up anyway,” he says, flashing you a crooked smile, one that almost feels like a quiet apology for making you feel like you weren’t welcome here. “I’ve been looking forward to this. Stay—please.”

And it’s the way he looks at you. Open. Warm. Like your presence just made his whole day better. Like there’s nowhere else he’d rather have you be.

You feel your hesitation melt, bit by bit. Your grip on your bag loosens. Your heart softens in a way you didn’t expect. So you nod. Quietly, simply, you say, “Okay.”

As you wait, you take slow steps around the studio, letting your eyes wander over the carefully displayed pieces—bowls, vases, sculptures that seem to carry a sense of motion even in their stillness. Each one is uniquely imperfect, textured with fingerprints, small ridges, grooves. They're beautiful in the way something made by hand always is—full of soul, full of intention. But as much as you're trying to focus on the art, your attention keeps drifting. To him.

Hyunjin stands a few feet away, still finishing his conversation, and you can’t help but look. The way he’s dressed is simple—just a white tank top tucked into jeans, the fabric hugging his frame in all the right places, and an apron dusted with clay tied around his waist. His buzzed hair is wrapped under a bandana. He gestures with his hands as he talks, his words low and animated, his passion palpable.

There’s something magnetic about it—the way his brows pull together when he's describing a shape, the way his hands mimic the curves of the piece, like he’s still molding it in the air. You find yourself watching too closely. Admiring too much.

God, he's attractive. Really, really attractive.

You realize you’ve been staring, your thoughts trailing somewhere they shouldn’t, and you quickly look away, pretending to examine a nearby vase like it suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world.

Your pulse does this little skip in your chest and you remind yourself again: You're just here to learn pottery.

The soft click of the studio door signals that Hyunjin’s guest has just left, and suddenly, it's just the two of you. The room feels quieter now, like it’s holding its breath, waiting. You run your fingertips along the rim of a ceramic bowl, pretending to study it as you hear the sound of his footsteps getting closer. Your heart does a little flutter as you straighten your posture, but you don’t dare turn around until you hear his voice.

“So…” he says, his tone lighter now, a little teasing, “ready for your first pottery lesson?”

You finally turn to face him, and he's looking at you with a smile that makes you feel warm all over. His apron is still dusted with clay, his arms streaked with it, and there’s a tiny smudge on his cheek you have to force yourself not to reach for.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, giving a small laugh. “I guess so. I mean, I don’t want to break anything.”

He grins, dimples and all. “Don’t worry. The only rule here is to enjoy yourself.”

The way he says it—calm, easy, inviting—makes you relax a little. You nod, your lips curling into a smile. “Okay. Teach me, then.”

Hyunjin reaches for an apron hanging on a hook, shaking the dust from it before offering it to you with a quiet smile. “Here,” he says, “can’t have you ruining that pretty outfit.”

You chuckle softly as you slide your arms through the apron, smoothing it down the front. Before you can reach behind to tie it, he’s already stepping closer—close enough that the heat of his body brushes your back.

“Let me,” he murmurs.

His fingers gather the straps at your waist, slow and deliberate, and as he knots them behind you, you feel the firm brush of his knuckles against the small of your back. Your breath hitches—just slightly—and you’re thankful he can’t see your face just yet. But then… he moves higher.

Without a word, his hand lifts to your hair, gathering it gently, fingertips brushing your nape as he lifts it away from your neck. “Can’t let it get messy either,” he says quietly, voice dropping an octave as he twists your hair and pins it up with a clip from the table. “There. Perfect.”

Hyunjin doesn’t step away. He lingers, his hands falling slowly, deliberately, to rest lightly on your shoulders as he leans in—just enough for you to feel the soft, warm brush of his breath against your neck. You close your eyes for a moment, heat rising in your cheeks, heart fluttering like it’s never been touched before.

“You smell really good,” he says, low and sincere, as if it’s a secret he hadn’t meant to say out loud.

You swallow, pulse quickening. “I—um… thank you.”

When you finally turn your head slightly to glance back at him, his eyes are already on you—dark, unreadable, but soft. And the look he gives you makes you feel like you’re the only thing in the room worth noticing.

He smiles, the corners of his mouth curling up like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “Let’s make something beautiful,” he says.

And you’re not entirely sure if he’s still talking about pottery.

-

Hyunjin leads you to the table, where a solid mound of clay sits waiting. He picks up a thin, taut wire with wooden handles on each end and holds it out for you. “This is a cut-off wire,” he explains gently, “you use it to portion the clay before you bring it to the wheel.”

You take the handles in your hands, unsure, and glance at him. He steps behind you again, not too close this time—but close enough that you can feel the presence of him, the quiet patience he carries.

“Pull it tight,” he says, “and glide it through like you’re slicing butter.”

You do as he says, but your motion is a little hesitant, uneven. He doesn’t correct you right away. Instead, his hands come up to rest over yours, steadying them, guiding the motion with a softness that makes your breath catch.

“Like this,” he murmurs, his voice brushing your ear.

Together, you slice through the clay. When it’s done, he lets go—slowly—and steps around to lift the cut piece with ease. He smiles.

“Perfect,” he says. “See? Not so hard.”

You follow him as he carries the clay over to the wheel, your heart still fluttering from the brief contact. He pats the stool next to the wheel.

“Come sit. Let’s get your hands dirty.”

You do, smoothing the apron over your lap as you settle in.

He slaps the clay down at the center of the wheel with a satisfying thud, then sits beside you, adjusting the pedal with his foot. “We’re going to start by centering the clay. That’s the most important part.”

You look down at your hands, already dusted with faint clay residue. “What if I mess it up?”

Hyunjin leans in with a smile that borders on a smirk, eyes flicking up to yours. “That’s part of the fun.”

His hands take yours again, guiding them toward the spinning mound of clay. The wheel starts turning, slow and steady, and he wraps his fingers around yours as the clay begins to take shape beneath your touch.

The sensation is strange—cool, smooth, pliant—but with him guiding you, it doesn’t feel overwhelming. It feels… grounding. Intimate. “Just feel it,” he says quietly. “Don’t overthink.”

You nod, even though your heart is racing—not from nerves over the clay, but from the way his voice settles into your spine. The way his hands feel sure and gentle over yours. The way his focus is split between the clay and you.

Then, Hyunjin moves to the wheel across from you, his own piece of clay already set and spinning. “Watch me first,” he says, looking up with a soft grin. “Then you can try.”

You nod, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you lean forward slightly, eyes on him. On the way his hands wet with slip move gracefully over the surface of the clay. His fingers are long, precise—expert—and there’s a natural rhythm in the way they press and pull, coaxing form from the formless.

Your gaze drops to his forearms, where veins run along the skin like rivers, his muscles subtly flexing as he controls the wheel. The way his biceps shift beneath the snug fit of his tank has your breath hitching just slightly, and then your eyes move up again—past the bandana holding his hair back, past the little smudge of clay near his jaw—to his face.

Hyunjin is all focus. Calm, unbothered, completely at home in the motion of his craft. And for a moment, you forget where you are.

You’re watching him—not just the process, but him—and your thoughts go quiet. All you hear is the hum of the wheel, the soft squish of clay, and your own heartbeat tapping against your ribs.

Then, as if he senses it, his eyes lift. He catches you staring. You look away fast, cheeks warming, pretending to busy yourself with your own shapeless lump of clay. But across the room, you hear his soft laugh. Low, amused, unbothered.

“I can feel you watching me,” he says, not looking up this time as he dips his fingers in water and smooths a new edge into his piece.

You glance up at him again, trying to sound casual. “I’m just observing. You said to watch.”

“Right,” he says, a teasing glint in his eye now. “Strictly academic.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads on your lips. He doesn't push, just continues shaping his work with that same focused grace—while every now and then, you catch his gaze flicking back to you. And each time it does, it lingers just a little longer.

Not long after, you find yourself sinking into it, the stillness not awkward but comforting. The kind of quiet that wraps around you like a warm blanket, where nothing needs to be said. Your hands move gently over the clay, smoothing it, shaping it—not entirely sure what you're making, but enjoying the process anyway. It’s oddly therapeutic, the coolness of the clay, the give and resistance of it, the freedom to make anything. You let your fingers trail along its form, until—

The wheel spins too fast beneath your hand, wobbling wildly, and your once-decent shape collapses inward with a wet slap. You sigh, pulling your hands back, covered in clay and frustration.

Hyunjin looks up from his own wheel. He sees your frown, your ruined creation, and he doesn’t laugh like you expect him to. Instead, he wipes his hands with a rag and rises, walking over with an amused curl to his lips and that glint in his eyes. “You panicked,” he says softly, voice dipped in warm amusement.

“I messed it up,” you mutter, eyeing the deformed lump.

“You can still fix it,” he simply resolves.

Before you can ask how, he’s already behind you. Not too close—but close enough that you can feel his presence, the gentle press of warmth radiating from his chest. Then, with zero hesitation, he reaches around you, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as he guides your hands back to the clay.

“Slow down,” he murmurs, his breath brushing against your neck.

You try not to shiver as he continues, “Just feel it. Let your hands listen to what it wants to be.”

His hands gently cup yours, steering them over the clay as the wheel spins again—slower this time. Controlled. Intimate. His fingers never leave yours, and every time he leans in to speak, his lips come dangerously close to your ear. “You’re doing good,” he whispers. “See? Told you we could fix it.”

You manage a breathy chuckle, though your focus is split—half on the clay, half on how close he is. How his chest nearly grazes your back, how his voice sinks into your skin, how his fingers linger just a little too long with each adjustment.

“Feels a little like cheating,” you murmur.

He huffs a laugh behind you. “I like helping.” His voice dips a little lower. “Besides… if it means I get to be this close to you, I’m not complaining.”

You glance back at him—only to find his face already angled toward yours, eyes heavy-lidded with that teasing smile. Your breath catches. For a moment, neither of you move. You pull in a breath, trying to center yourself again—on the clay, the motion, the wheel beneath your hands, not on the way Hyunjin’s breath felt brushing your skin just moments ago.

“Okay,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. “Let’s just finish this.”

And you do. You put all of your focus into the shape, your hands moving more confidently now. Every curve, every pressure, you begin to feel the rhythm. Hyunjin stays close but doesn't interfere anymore—just lets you work, watching with quiet eyes and the occasional, almost imperceptible smile. A few times, he gently murmurs encouragements, soft like a breeze: “Just like that… slower on the edge… good, yeah, that’s it.”

And slowly, it comes together. A little uneven, maybe. Not perfectly symmetrical. But it has a charm—your charm, your hands in the shape of it.

When you lift your hands and look at what you've made, you let out a quiet breath. “It’s… kind of a plate?” you say, unsure.

Hyunjin chuckles, stepping in. “It is a plate,” he says warmly, reaching for the cut-off wire. He carefully loops it beneath the clay, slicing it from the wheel with practiced ease, and lifts it with gentle hands like it’s a masterpiece.

He turns to you with a smile so genuine it makes your chest swell. “You did a really good job,” he says.

You smile back, your cheeks still warm. “Only because you practically made it with me.”

“I was just your guide.” He winks. “You’re the artist.”

You roll your eyes with a soft laugh, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes you stand a little taller. Like maybe you are capable of making something beautiful—even if it’s just a slightly lopsided plate in a small studio, with a man who’s slowly but surely making a mark on your heart.

-

The clay’s still under your nails a little, but there’s something oddly satisfying about it. A trace of the afternoon etched into your skin. You wash your hand in the nearest sink and feel a little more relaxed as you're toweling your damp hands.

Not long after, Hyunjin walks in, balancing two cups of coffee with ease, still in his paint-smeared apron and bandana, looking effortlessly undone in the most deliberate way.

“Made us coffee,” he says, handing you one of the mugs. Your fingers brush for a second as you take it, and it sends a small jolt up your spine.

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking a sip and leaning against the big wooden table beside him. The studio is quiet now, just the soft hum of life outside the windows and the lingering scent of clay and coffee between you.

You admire the wall-to-wall shelf of pottery on the other side of the studio, each piece unique, imperfectly perfect in their own way. “You’ve made all of these?” you ask.

He nods, glancing at them over his cup. “Each one’s like a memory.”

You smile at that, letting the silence wrap around you both for a beat. Then, from beside you, he says casually, “So… I might’ve done a little internet stalking about you.”

You glance at him, brow arching. “Oh?”

He smiles into his cup, lowering it slowly. “I was curious.”

“And what did you find out, detective?”

He turns his head to look at you, something playful and soft behind his eyes. “That you were… different.”

You narrow your eyes, amused. “Different how?”

He tilts his head, thinking. “Fiery. Effervescent. A little wild, in the best way.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Are you disappointed now?”

He shakes his head, eyes still locked on yours. “Not even close.” His voice is low, steady. “I like who you are now.”

Your heart flips, unprepared for the way he says it—so matter-of-factly, like it's the easiest truth he's ever spoken. Then he adds, almost as if speaking to the room, “But I think that part of you is still in there. Just… quieter now. I wonder if I'll ever meet her.”

You look down into your coffee, lips curling slightly before glancing back at him. “Or maybe you should’ve been born sooner,” you tease, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.

But Hyunjin just smiles, slow and knowing, as he turns to face you more fully. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “If I was born sooner… you wouldn’t have noticed me. I’d be nobody.”

Your smile falters, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he says, stepping closer. “You would’ve looked right through me. But now…” His eyes lock on yours again, this time deeper, weightier. “Now you see me.”

Your breath hitches, the space between you shrinking, thick with something electric.

“I think,” he murmurs, voice low, “we met at the right time.”

You swallow, caught off guard—not just by his words, but by the way he says them. The way he makes you feel. And you realize, maybe it’s not about being ready to open your heart. Maybe it’s about someone walking in and making it feel safe enough to try.

And then, he takes a small step closer, close enough that you can see the brown of his eyes, the way his lashes cast soft shadows on his cheekbones, the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his temple from earlier.

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, voice low, husky with hesitation… and intent.

You nod before you can think better of it.

“I’ve been trying to keep it cool,” he murmurs, his hand brushing the edge of the table near yours. “Trying not to be… too much.”

Your lips twitch, heart hammering. “You think this is you trying to be subtle?”

Hyunjin lets out a quiet laugh, one that curls around your ribs and settles in your belly. “I guess I’m not very good at subtle when it comes to you.”

And then, slowly, he reaches out—his hand gentle as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing the curve of your jaw before falling away. The touch is light, but it lingers in your skin like fire.

“You make it really hard,” he says, barely above a whisper, “not to want... more.”

“More?” you echo softly, trying to keep your voice steady.

His eyes don’t leave yours. “More moments like this. More of your time. More of you.”

The silence stretches for a beat—your heart racing, cheeks burning—but you don’t pull away. You don’t stop him. Because in this moment, with the earthy scent of clay still hanging in the air and the fading sunlight washing golden across the floor, it feels terrifyingly easy to let yourself lean in—just a little closer.

And Hyunjin sees it. He sees the way your eyes flick to his lips for half a second too long. So he closes the space between you, just barely, until his face hovers inches from yours. Not touching, not yet. Waiting. Letting you decide.

“Tell me to stop,” he says quietly, “and I will.”

But you don’t, you don’t say a word. Instead, you meet his eyes—warm, steady, searching—and you let yourself lean in just enough to close the last inches between you.

And then, finally, his lips meet yours.

It’s soft at first—so gentle, as if he’s afraid to break something delicate. His lips move against yours with reverence, like he’s been waiting a long time for this moment, and now that he has it, he’s not going to rush. He kisses you like it means something. Your hand finds the front of his apron, clutching the edge of the fabric just to ground yourself, to make sure this is real. And when you respond—when your lips press back into his, just a little more certain, a little more open—he sighs softly into the kiss, like relief, like gravity finally pulling him where he belongs.

His hand cradles your face, thumb brushing the edge of your cheek, and the other finds your waist, pulling you just a little closer—not demanding, but asking. You let him. You let yourself fall into the warmth of him, the quiet hum of something new and terrifyingly beautiful blooming between you.

When he finally pulls away, it’s only just—his forehead resting against yours, eyes still closed, breath mingling with yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that,” he murmurs, “since the first time I saw you.”

You smile, breathless, your heart blooming in your chest like something brand new. “And here I thought you were just being polite.”

Hyunjin huffs a quiet laugh, his nose brushing yours. “Not even a little bit.”

And for a while, you stay like that—close, quiet, wrapped in something warm and soft and maybe even a little magical—before the moment gives way to the next.

Because this doesn’t feel like an ending. It feels like the very beginning.

-

✨ Chapter I of Evermore is available on my Patreon ✨

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[vomitspit2]

jade who can’t stop/can’t help but to keep using his unique magic on you …. BIG jade thoughts!!!

though his unique magic has been utilized for sinister motivation, this is perhaps the only time his motivation has been sweet.

he cannot stop loosening the zipper over your mouth. it's an indulgence.

you are not a verbal person. you’re kind of introverted. mouse-ish, if he had to pick an animal. a little too self conscious to let all your thoughts flow out freely. and you aren’t very eager to say ‘i love you’ 24/7 like jade’s lovey-dovey parents do.

doesn’t mean you don’t feel it.

just means you are selective on where and when you say such monumental words.

jade would never want to pry those words out your mouth. he feels gifted when you grace him with your shy affections. those words should come naturally.

but, he does adore getting to pull out your other reticent affections — shoving his hand down your throat to pluck out each flower from the bottom of the basket — that are often not said. you just need a little good push and jade is nothing but benevolent.

up goes your chin, guided by a gloved finger. the magnets of both your eyes click into place. shock the heart. then, he helps you root out all the tiny, amorous thoughts you would have kept hidden from him.

now, he knows that you drool over how he will roll his sleeves up when on kitchen duty, you adore when he goes on seamlessly about a mushroom's biological blueprint, a hand pinches your arteries when he fixes your tie, his cool confidence in the face of others make you envious yet endeared, the flavor of tea in his mouth is your favorite blind taste test, you like this about him and you like that about him, when his hat shades his eyes in a certain way and when sunlight illuminates his eyes in a certain way ... all those petite sentiments that you probably would have kept closed up evermore, he gets to hear them.

you really went nuts when he wore that one black watch, now he knows to wear it as frequently as possible. it's like a little cheat. peeling back the top layers of your nerves to get to the fruit underneath.

you never remember it. you lose memory for about thirty seconds, like someone had pulled out some kind of plug in you. maybe it lasts for a minute-thirty if jade has been having a particularly rough week.

why wouldn't he use his gift, if not to fill up the hole in his chest to his very, very selfish heart's content.

[cno-inbminor]

evermore

a/n: don't know what hit. not sure when or how this will continue. skimmed through, not thoroughly edited. plot: your daughter, emerus, is getting married -- which means that you're having to see sylus more and more, despite having been separated for the last decade of so. to be honest, you're not sure if you're ready for that. (middle-aged parents reader x sylus that are legally still married but have been separated for years) TW: mentions of divorce, growing old, reader and sylus are both going through it, vague descriptions of the past, slight cliffhanger wc: 4.1k

           Sylus knows this is a dream. Anyone who knew the man would know that he would never be found in a state of denial of anything, even after all the years that have passed. But when it comes to you, all logic is thrown out the window.

           “A-che, let’s go!” your voice calls out, and he turns towards the sound with a foggy mind. He observes in morose silence at the endless field of tarus flowers before seeing your figure at the top of the hill, your hand beckoning him over.

           He can indulge himself one more time, right?

           Each step is like trudging through muddy waters, as if his strength and stamina had left him long ago. Sylus can see your growing impatience, but he starts getting nervous – you don’t seem to be any closer than you were minutes ago. He’s been walking for a while now, so why does it seem like he hasn’t made any type of progress?

           Sylus is nothing but persistent – after all, he would go to the ends of the Earth for you. He needs to walk for eternity with you as the end goal? Absolutely no shadow of a doubt that he would do so. But he is tired. “Hold on,” he tries to call out to you. There is no sign that you heard him, and he can see the liveliness from earlier start to fade away. “Please wait,” he says as he tries to pick up his speed, finally able to break out into a full run. You’re finally getting closer, and excitement pricks at his skin.

           When you look away from him, the excitement dissolves into panic. He knows that gesture, that posture all too well. More familiar than he’d like to admit, but it will never cease to haunt him after all these years. Don’t walk away from me, his mind races, matching the gait of his sprint. Not again, please–

           “I’m tired of waiting,” you confess after a heavy, burdensome sigh. “I’m tired of waiting for you to come to me.”

           “Sweetheart, I–” His chest seizes. He can’t remember the last time he felt so out of breath, like his lungs were going to stop working at any second.

           “You only kept me close when you wanted. I thought–” You pause to sniffle, and Sylus’s heart shatters at the trail of tears down your cheeks. “I thought I could wait forever, but I can’t.” Your voice grows softer, your airway closing up more and more. “I love you, Sylus.”

           Fuck, why can’t he run any faster than this? This wasn’t a dream. This was his worst nightmare on repeat for the nth time. And it always ends the same exact way – the same look, the same hair, the same scene, the same pandemonium, and the same cadence in your last words.

           “But I have to go.”

           And even though your parting sentence is the quietest you’ve been, it’s the loudest he’s ever heard you.

           As he blinks away the sweat and grime, the sunset bleeds into darkness, hard edges etching between shadows of, what he realizes now, the furniture in his bedroom. No trace of light exists aside from the sliver that peeks through the blackout curtains to his right. It takes another blink to recognize the line of shelves along his wall, filled with vinyls and tomes and photo albums. The occasional picture frames that have collected dust serve as decoration and less painful reminders of the life he once had. But his favorites sit on the nightstand closest to him — one of you, another of you and him, and another with your daughter when she was a toddler in his arms.

           Sylus slips out of bed with care, leaning behind to stretch out his back. He’s starting to feel the weakness in his knees, a sure sign of time and age. In the bathroom, his reflection stares back at him – always known for his sharp jawline, angular features, bright, crimson eyes, yet they appear softened before him.

           It’s expected, really. The beauty of youth would never last forever, even for someone like Sylus. Crow’s feet are more prominent, wrinkle lines beginning to show, his hair having lost a part of its shine sometime ago, and the skin around his neck is starting to loosen. A silver fox, many would call him. Over the years, a number of people – young, older, and similar aged – have approached him with attraction seeping through each gesture. But then they glance down at his left hand, and the mix of platinum and obsidian that sits on his ring finger is everything they need to know. At that time, most of them politely back out, but a fair share find it as a challenge. After all, why would a married man sit alone at the bar like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders?

           Sylus rejects their advances with aloofness and curt words, and they happen so often that his usual bartenders have to fight their hardest to hide their snickering. Never once have they suggested to him to take the ring off – well, except for one who had no knowledge of Sylus at all, and nobody had warned him before his first shift. Needless to say, that bartender made sure to never ask again and keep to themselves because they’d do anything to not be on the other end of their boss’s withering glare. Occasionally Sylus will step behind the bar, which ends up being a treat for everyone with bigger tips. In fact, someone had once recorded him make some drinks with little spurts of working flair, and it got popular enough that his own daughter sent it to him, signed by, “omg dad, someone recorded you!! you’re viral now LOL 😂😂” and “i suggest you not look at the comments, just fyi, but a lot of people were disappointed by your ring hahahaha”. When he had decided 30 minutes afterwards to finally reply, she slid in a “and yes, i sent it to mom” with a screenshot of their text conversation.

          

Your way of trying to redirect the conversation brings up a corner of his lips for half a second. He remembers the indescribable pain in his chest when you came back together for the first time for her birthday (the guilt trip one that started a tradition), and he had noticed the ring was no longer perched on your left hand. His own had glistened under the bright lights, the contrast of its metal to the color of his skin making it stand out even more. Maybe you had seen it before he slipped it off in secret and tucked it into his pocket. Maybe you had noticed the way he instinctively kept his left hand in a pant pocket so he could fidget with the band, knowing that it would never be lost. Since then, he’s only ever taken it off when he knows you’ll be around. You had moved on, and that was something he had to live with.

           (Maybe if he hadn’t tried to spend so much effort making sure he wasn’t caught staring at you, he would’ve noticed the way you seemed to always have a hand by your neck, fingers messing with the necklace chain hanging around it for the very same reasons.)

           His own text conversation/thread with you sees very little activity. His daughter, who again, is getting married (where oh where did the time go?), had set up a group chat with the three of them under the guise of needing them to coordinate on things when needed. Sylus initially offered to take care of the entire cost of the wedding, one that you rejected with a curt text before delineating what you were planning to pay for, including percentages of items like the cake, the deposit for the venue, the cost of having an open bar, her wedding dress, and more. And perhaps his asking again if that really was okay came off just the littlest bit (like, really, infinitesimal) condescending, because you had not responded well: “If I said I can take care of it, then I can take care of it, Sylus. I’ve been setting money aside specifically for this event.”

           “Very well”, he had responded, as well as ignored the banner appearing with a message coming separately from his daughter with five eye-rolling emojis. Sylus has always wondered where her sass came from, and he likes to think it’s a good blend of him and you.

           His smart watch vibrates on his wrist, causing him to blink his way out of his reverie. It displays an alert to remind him that his daughter’s final dress appointment is in the next couple of hours, and he sighs. He never went on the previous shopping trips, leaving it to you and her. When she had been born, you had mentioned on several occasions to him that you would both rue and cherish the days you’re rifling through racks of silk and organza for her. He hadn’t wanted to ruin those moments, but after five seconds of begging from his daughter to at least come to the final fitting, he relented. She had made sure that you were already aware he was coming, and that there was nothing you could do about it. After one more look in the mirror, he dips his head down, turns on the sink, and starts his morning routine.

           Sylus pulls into the parking lot of the boutique about five minutes before the scheduled time. Stepping out, he scans the area to see if anybody else had shown up early and notices your car parked a few spots down. His daughter’s car was nowhere to be seen yet. A nervous tic shot through him. Alone? With you? Without their daughter as a buffer?

           He lets out a slow exhale, almost psyching himself up. “It’ll be fine,” he murmurs to no one as he slams the car door closed. “I’ve been through business deals hairier than this,” he continues to reassure himself, and that everything would be fine. So fine. He sees you at least twice a year, what’s the big deal now?

           One last breath, and he swings the door open.

           “Ah, and you must be the father! I could tell the resemblance right away,” the attendant greets in a cheery voice with an outreached hand. Sylus gives a small smile in agreement and shakes their hand.

           “Her mother is here already, I’m presuming.”

           “Yes, she arrived just a few seconds before you,” they say as they lead him into the main atelier. He immediately spots you sitting on a couch, your perfume still lingering in the air where you had walked before him. “Your daughter was so excited to have you today. It’s a shame you never came before!”

           “I had some meetings,” he lies in a practiced fashion. “And I’m sure there’s nothing I could really contribute.”

           “Oh nonsense,” they say, “Emerus mentioned you were quite the stylist yourself.”

           “Nothing compared to her and her mother, I assure you,” he quips.

           Your eyes finally meet his own, and part of him wants to die.

           You’re just…just so beautiful. Age has only made you more elegant, regal, untouchable, every bit the paragon of a goddess in his eyes.

           “I’ll go back to the front and wait for her there! Make yourself comfortable, help yourself to some champagne or water over there,” they chime, waving a hand over at the drink station before disappearing back around the corner.

           Breathe, he reminds himself like a teenage boy confronting his crush for the first time. “How have you been?” he asks in a soft voice.

           Did he sound nervous? Could you tell?

           “Good, and you?” you respond with a small smile of his own.

           “The usual,” he shrugs as he sits on the couch a comfortable distance away from you. Under normal circumstances (normal circumstances as in when you were all still living happily under one roof many many years ago), he would have pressed himself right up against you, slung an arm around your shoulder, and given you a peck on your temple with a squeeze – all of which he hasn’t done for over a decade now, so this isn’t new.

           The twitch in his fingers to do just that isn’t new either. Even now, after all this time.

           Silence wedges its way between you two as he searches for anything to say. He doesn’t get to hear your voice enough, so it sends him for a loop every time he does hear it.

           “Is she happy with it?” he decides on asking, staring at the dress sitting on one of the busts by the wall of mirrors.

           “Very,” you respond, warmth flooding your voice. “She couldn’t wait for today.”

           “Then that’s all that matters.”

           “Ma, ba!”

           Both of your heads swivel towards the sound of your daughter’s voice. He waves as she drags her maid-of-honor along, and he bends down for a hug when she gives him a hug after one to you. “Thanks for coming, Dad,” she says in his ear, her voice also warm and soft like yours, her mother’s.

           “Of course,” he replies, pulling back and taking a good look at her. “Aiya, wǒ de nǚ'ér zhēn de yāo jié hūn le. Zhǎng dà le.”   [Aiya, my daughter is really getting married. All grown up.]

           “I’ve been grown,” she sasses back in a playful manner, no real annoyance evident in her voice at all. “I’m excited for you to see the dress!”

           “Well he can’t see it if you stay out here. Come on, let’s get you dressed.”

           Whether it be luck or a curse, he’s left to his own devices as the two most important women in his life plus one of their best friends and the attendant from earlier disappear behind the changing partition. They speak in hushed voices and giggles until Emerus calls out, “Alright Dad, I’m coming out!”

           He sits at attention and waits patiently for her to step on the raised platform and smooth out any wrinkles she sees, aided by you and your maid-of-honor. When they deem it perfect, she flashes him a bright smile (she truly is your daughter, he muses). “Well, what do you think?”

           Sylus is already nodding before he can say anything, but any words that would’ve left his mouth are stuck in his throat because the sight before him is familiar. The design of the dress isn’t the exact same, but it’s enough to send him flying back down memory lane to the day when he stood at an altar and impatiently waited for you to finally be close enough and call you his wife. Those words begin to actively choke him, and his eyes shimmer just the slightest at the sight before him and the ghost of his past, all colliding into one.

           “Beautiful,” he manages to say before looking over at you. “Gorgeous,” Sylus adds on with his gaze still stuck on you, as if to ask, “Are you seeing this as well? Do you remember too?”

           Sylus pays no mind to her friend and attendant now talking through the details and last minute fixes, especially since you’re walking back to his side now. His eyes follow you, and it’s quite pathetic how touched he is when you place a hand on his arm. “She was insistent on finding one like mine,” you inform him. “Mine is a bit too old-fashioned, and we luckily found one that was very similar in essence.”

           He can only hum in understanding, still so incredibly fixed on you and your hand. It burns him, through cotton and all, and he takes in the wrinkles around your knuckles.Your nails remain unblemished, which means you’re in good health at least. In his examination, he spots a few strands of white amidst your locks. Had you two still been together, he would have you sitting on the bed in front of him, holding a pair of eyebrow tweezers and digging through to pluck those out at your behest. It would’ve become a nightly routine, something to laugh at and look fondly on when there are too many gray and white hairs to bother with. He always thought he would grow old with you.

           Two pats on his arm bring him back to his cruel reality, and when you finally look up at him, it’s like you know what he was envisioning, wishing for, longing for. “I’m going to help them out,” you tell him before walking away, and his finger twitches again. Your steps that widen the already gaping distance between you two continue to carry you away from him, but they are different from the steps he had seen behind his eyelids just this past night. You weren’t leaving leaving him in this case, and that’s more than he could ever ask for. 

           (“I’ll wait for you, I promise. I don’t want anyone else.”

            “You don’t need to, Sylus. I’d understand if you did find someone else.

            “I mean it,” he emphasizes again. His hand cradles your cheek, his thumb smoothing over the apple of your cheek. In a hushed, broken whisper, “I can wait for an eternity, and I will if I have to. There is no love purer than mine.”)

           -

           When your daughter had announced to Sylus that she was done fidgeting with the dress, you had immediately trained your gaze onto him, gauging his reaction. Since her teenage years, Emerus had always expressed how much she loved your wedding dress, and that she wanted to find one just like it whenever she gets married. Even then, you had already told her that her taste in fashion may change over time, so it would be completely understandable if she wanted something completely different. But here you are, ten-or-so years later, seeing it with your own eyes. And you wondered if he would be just as affected as you were the first time she tried it on.

           (That night, you had gone home and rewatched the video that was made of the wedding for the first time since the separation. Needless to say, your eyes were extremely puffy the next morning.)

           Based on his stunned expression, you knew he was thinking about your wedding, but which part specifically? Was he thinking about your first dance? Your first kiss in front of a crowd when you two were officially announced as husband and wife? How you looked walking down the aisle?

           When he glanced at you, your breath hitched. The unguarded, desperate, longing look was more apparent than you had ever seen, and you most definitely noticed how the crimson in his eyes seemed to shine too brightly before he blinked. It was difficult to fight off your own tears as the world around you fell away. All that mattered was him and the frayed, red string of fate between you two.

           “Gorgeous,” he had said, and his voice alone commanded you to walk toward him. Nothing could stop you from approaching him with a comforting hand on his arm. The warmth of his skin sears you through his sleeve, and you allow yourself to be selfish by leaving your hand there. “She was insistent on finding one like mine,” you told him, voice on the verge of shaking like a leaf. “Mine is a bit too old-fashioned, and we luckily found one that was very similar in essence.”

           His gaze was glued on your hand long enough for you to awkwardly pat his arm twice before pulling it back. Maybe he was uncomfortable. Were you being too familiar? Did he think you were sending mixed messages? Were you sending mixed messages?

           Do you dare to allow yourself to believe that Sylus misses you as much as his eyes seem to say?

           No.

           “I’m going to help them out,” you say before returning to your daughter’s side. Emerus gives you no time to think before asking for your opinion on a last minute stitch in the back. On the inside, you mentally slap yourself twice, once on each cheek. This isn’t about you. It’s about your daughter and her wedding, even if she is swathed in a near-replica of your dress. “Any tighter and you’ll be left with no room to breathe,” you warn. “It’ll be a long night, and you’ll need what little time you have to eat to get through the whole thing. The dress won’t be falling off, so I think you’ll be okay without it.”

-

Just because you've known for a while now what the cost of the dress would be, doesn't mean you can't wince a little when you tap your card on the credit card terminal. And yes, you've been prepared for this for quite some time, but it doesn't stop you from lamenting over how expensive weddings can be. Yet when you turn and see the blissful smile on your daughter's face, it makes it all worth it.

You can't help but be drawn to the man standing next to her. Sylus stands by with all the fatherly fondness the universe has to offer and more. Rays of sunshine come through the window, partially obscured by the wedding dresses out on display, and they highlight the faint wrinkles around his eyes. For years, you thought it would be impossible for him to age even the slightest, having been blessed with phenomenal skin and the drive to keep up a regimen consisting of adequate exercise, a healthy diet, and a skincare routine. Even in the early days of Emerus’s infancy when she would wake in the night, he only looked a little tired on the worst days while you looked like you got tossed around in a tornado before being spat out onto the ground.

An old daydream creeps in, a flashing sight of entwined hands, wrinkled and sunken in with age, but no less full of love and adoration. They take slow but steady steps along the trail in a plain filled with flowers and blooms. It was the peaceful ending to a life that you once thought was finally in your hands. But you ruined it all, and there was no one to blame but yourself.

Along the way somewhere, you felt that Sylus had stopped wearing his heart on his sleeve for you to see. It was apparent – radiant almost – for everyone else, especially your daughter. And after she turned ten, you noticed that Sylus was quieter around you, a little less expressive.

By no means was he a neglectful husband – in fact, he was almost perfect. He knew your favorite flowers, your favorite foods for each emotion you could possibly think of, never missed an anniversary or events when a plus-one was expected. But those anniversary dinners became quiet affairs, soundscapes of silence filled by metal against ceramic. Passionate nights dissolved into faux serenity. Tucking you under his arm began to feel mechanical, as if he was too kind to ever tell you that, in actuality, he wanted some distance and space in bed at night.

He did not return until the night you brought up the separation, but it was too late at that point. You were stuck too deep in the black hole of your envy and greed, your selfishness and immaturity (which therapy would tell you a couple of years later that you were not, in fact, selfish or immature), to feel worthy of Sylus’s endless apologies that you didn't think he needed to give. No matter how much he tried to reassure you that he would fix everything, to shoulder the burden of picking up the pieces of your shattered soul, you couldn't find it in yourself to accept it. How could you?

Sylus turns to look at you. Out of habit, you steel yourself for what is to come – the guarded look in his eyes, the slight tensing of his shoulder, his smile thinner and more muted.

But seconds go by without him doing any of the sort. The affection he regards you with sends you back to the early days of your relationship, the never-ending honeymoon era that held up against the removal of your rose-tinted glasses. They almost seem to beg you in earnest – for you to understand, to accept that after all these years…

He still loves you like no other.

[obsessedwhyyes]

Blood-Bound Rapture

Part of Darling Drabbles - A Series of Astarion Shorts.

Summary: Astarion drinks your blood. The intimacy, the closeness... The dark look in his eyes - they promise danger and desire in equal measure. The line between fear and pleasure becomes evermore blurred.

Rating: M Word Count: 582 Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Content: Predator/prey, blood drinking, some mild submission elements. Sexually charged, but not explicit.

Gif by @ishaslife on Tumblr!

A/N: You ever start writing a passage that you're quite chuffed with and then it dawns on you that you'll never actually use it in anything? That's what this is. Have a little drabble!

Astarion watches you with a predatory focus, a slow smile curling up on his lips. You can feel the air shift between you. Like a sudden stillness wrapping tight around your body, pulling your heart into a rapid beat. It’s like standing at the edge of a precipice - somewhere between fear and curiosity, where the thrill alone threatens to send you over.

When he moves closer, it’s with an almost languid grace. A hunter savouring the chase long after it’s finished. There’s no rush in his movements, just a confident certainty that you are already his. 

His fingers skim the curve of your neck. You hadn't thought it possible for such cool fingers to make your skin feel so hot. 

When he tilts your head back, it's gentle. Familiar, almost. But the hunger beneath that touch thrums under the surface, restless and wild. His gaze burns into you, a flicker of something dark and untamed dancing behind his eyes. It’s a gaze that pins you in place. Gods, the weight of his desire alone could hold you captive.

And then you feel it - his breath, cool against your skin. The faintest brush of his lips against your throat. The moment hangs like the calm before a storm. For just a second, you wonder if this is how a rabbit feels beneath the shadow of a hawk.

But you have no time to pursue such coherent thoughts.

His teeth sink in.

The pain is sharp. Bright. Intense. Yet, within it, something else blooms. A rush of heat floods through you - a strange, overwhelming pleasure that spirals out from the bite, sinking deep into you. The world narrows to nothing but the pulse of your blood, the pull of his mouth, the way his grip tightens as though he’s afraid you might slip away. But there’s no pulling away now.

No thought of escape.

There’s only him.

He drinks you in slowly, savouring every drop, his lips pressed firmly against your skin. You swear you can feel the rumble of satisfaction low in his throat. The rhythm of it all, the soft, wet sounds and the steady draw of your lifeblood, sends a shiver through you, pooling between your thighs.

It’s intimate in a way you hadn’t expected; more intimate than anything that came before it. As though he’s claimed something deeper than flesh. And with each pulse, each pull, you fall deeper into that heady, consuming need, unable to tell where his hunger ends and your desire begins.

When he finally pulls away, his lips stained red with your essence, the world comes rushing back all at once - your heart racing, your breath shallow, a sharp, dizzying thrum coursing through your veins. Astarion’s eyes meet yours, gleaming with satisfaction. And perhaps something a little darker still. He looks at you as though you’re not just prey, but a prize. A beautiful, willing sacrifice to his endless hunger.

And it's in that moment that you realise that he hasn’t just tasted your blood. He’s tasted something far more intoxicating: your surrender. And you - the enchanted fool that you are - have let him have it willingly.

But even as your senses return, that dizzying warmth lingers, and you know with a sinking certainty that this won’t be the last time. You’ll let him do it again - crave it, even - because the thrill of his touch, of his breath against your neck, has already wound its way into your veins. You are his now, and deep down, you know you’ll never want to escape.

Masterlist can be found here!

No Pressure Tags: @roguishcat @davenswitcher @silverfangmarks @sparrowbard @chonkercatto @stokzr @trafalgarussy

[dawnoftime22]

a long awaited confession.

| T.S

INTHAF, Chapter 4

Warnings: None! Unless you dislike baking or cute long awaiting confessions </3

Summary: On a day where you were realizing your heart's feelings, Taylor had of course, wanted to hang out with you baking some chai cookies and watching a movie.

Word Count: 4.6k

Category: fluff fluff!!!

A/N: this is fluff with, basically the instructions and ingredients of how to make taylor's chai cookies :) OH THE JOY I HSD WHEN I FINISHED THIS

P.S, I have never baked in my life...don't take tips from me I'm just going off research

P.P.S...I just realized I could have done the lover rice krispies treats ☹️ its okay I guess you all get red / evermore taylor mixed with lover this fic

| Started on 26/11/2023, 8:33 AM |

| Finished on 06/02/2025, 7:03 PM |

Main Masterlist | T.S Masterlist

INTHAF Masterlist

<- Chapter 3

“you are what you love.”

gif by me / @likestarlightx :]

|——————————— ⸆⸉ ———————————|

It was an early morning, with you on the couch, sitting peacefully with your phone. You were practically like a cat soaking in the warm sun from the windows.

Your back was against the cushions, and you had your thumb scrolling against the smooth screen of your phone. You were mindlessly navigating your way through your homescreen and various apps, but unable to fixate on a single one before sighing out.

The ceiling stared down at you as if it was able to tell you, this was all tiring, and seeing you sat on the couch was everything boring, but you only groaned lightly and turned to lay on your side.

Instead, you went to instagram, seeing what was new and if any of your following accounts had posted anything new.

Every post seemed to pass by your screen until you spot a fan having posted a picture of you and Taylor. It was of yesterday, where you two were walking home and Taylor was carrying you.

When you check the comments, all you could see were people talking about how close you two were. You couldn't help but hear the way your heart raced in your ears, and you had to cover your face with your hands.

A soft thud sounds beside you from your phone being dropped to the couch, and you took a deep breath in, trying to not care about the immense heat on your cheeks, but it was unavoidable now.

Comments

Guys what if they're in a secret relationship?

|__ they don't sneak around a lot, I think they're friends but I would love to see them together

Look at how cute they are!! 😆

Seriously, that sunset captures the way they look together perfectly. 🥹

Lord. You were sure you felt like passing out. Your thoughts had wandered before in the past, but knowing people were suspecting about the two of you, when you couldn't even tell your feelings? It was almost like a slap to the face and it had been far too long.

As if it couldn't get any worse, you hear a notification from your phone, and you look over to see that it was a message from Taylor. Oh, the timings of the universe.

Hey hey :) wanna bake some cookies? I'll bring over the ingredients if you want

But you jump to reply back anyway, the fear and realization you had earlier being filled by excitement, but still with a pounding heart.

Yes?! Chai cookies?

Chai cookies!! We're gonna have them, theeeennn, watch some movies...?

You couldn't help the giggle escaping your mouth at her message, but you tried not to look into it more than you should.

Okay, yes, movies...but why my house?

Your house, 'cause I miss being there, silly. Plus, we already hung out at mine last time

I miss your cats though :(

. . .

Taylor <3 is typing...

You typed out your message, awaiting her response as her typing bubble moves. Seconds pass, and you nearly wonder what kind of long paragraph she was typing.

But on the other side, Taylor was struggling trying to simply decide on an emoji.

But you don't miss me?! 🥺| ->

She deleted it. Then retyped. This time with a 😕 emoji. Then she changed it again to the original emoji, only to decide with none at all, sending off her message with a sigh.

And you don't miss me?!

I do, gosh! I just mean I won't see them...

Well, I'd bring them, but they're napping

Gotta let the kitties rest

As if they haven't been napping all day...

Being a cat is hard, don't blame them! 😞

Okay, okay. When are you coming over??

Innn....5 minutes, I'm already in the car

What? You weren't even waiting for me to

let you come over were you?!

Nope! You'll let me either way ☺️

Is that a threat?

See you! 🩷

You shook your head at her completely obvious way of ignoring your question, and you put down your phone with a smile, unable to tear your eyes away from the heart she sent for just a second.

|——————————— ⸆⸉ ———————————|

The doorbell rang, and just like the first time you saw her after her long week of work, she stood there with a smile growing on her lips. Only this time, she didn't bring a backpack with a kitten inside. Her hand held a plastic bag instead.

"I got the ingredients!" she says excitedly, and you smiled back at her, stepping aside to let her in. "We're gonna bake!!" she pumps her hands up, moving in a small dance. You laughed, closing the door behind her.

"Chai cookie party, here we come." You joined in on her excitement, a small jump adding in your steps over to her. If she saw, she would have commented you were like a rabbit getting a bundle of edible flowers.

"Or chai cookie cozy time," Taylor suggests softly, smirking at you as she puts down the plastic bag on the kitchen counter.

You peeked in the bag, then helped her get all the ingredients out, putting them rightfully in their own spots, all ready to be put together.

She looked through the drawers, trying to find your mixer as you grabbed a bowl. "Wheres your mixer?" she questions, looking at your cabinets all lost when you went to look at her.

"Should be in the top cabinet...I don't know, search there." You shrugged gently, making sure your grip on the bowls were careful so they won't slip.

"Aha, found it," she murmurs, after picking some items out to soon spot the useful kitchen tool. She brings it out, moving everything back to their place.

"It was hiding behind a box of cereal, apparently." She waves the mixer in the air, gazing back at you curiously now, and you had to breathe out a laugh.

"I seriously don't know how it got there." You start to clean the bowl you got out since it was dusty, and you checied it was usable before bringing it to the counter.

Taylor shook her head gently, her lips a smile. She goes back to the main workplace of the kitchen, staring at everything thats been prepared with a hum escaping.

"Okay, now that we've got thaaat settled...we need some music to fully start this," she says, giving you a nudge with her shoulder. You had to blink, feeling your heart rate pick up.

"Or else its not a baking session!" She turns, grabbing her phone to set on the counter with a thump, opening it up to Spotify, oblivious as you shook yourself out of it.

She scrolled down to find the playlist she had that was ready for all your baking times together, which was filled with her songs, some country music, and simply some fun music you both always loved to dance to while being in the kitchen.

You 'ooh'd' at the sound of the guitar playing in the song, it being familiar. Taylor opened up the salted butter packaging, plopping the block down to the bowl you prepared.

"What a shame, didn't want to be the one that got away, yeah." Taylor nods her head gently to the rhythm, singing the starting lyrics as she flattened out the butter and beat it up with the mixer.

You smiled widely as soon as you recognized the song choice; it was one of the few songs Taylor had made, but this one was handed over to a band, and she did a few added vocals.

"I love this song!!" you comment, making Taylor turn her head instantly, beaming at your quick recognition.

"Hell yeah!" she cheered, grabbing the ingredients to put in with the now creamy butter, first the sugar and the powdered version, going in. You helped her crack an egg to carefully go down into the bowl.

Soon, after the vanilla extract was added with the vegetable oil, she turns on the mixer again, moving it gently so everything is evenly mixed in together to make a soft, sticky looking dough.

"You seriously need to release it," you murmured softly. Your hand used scissors to carefully cut the tea bag that contained the chai leaves, and she watches as you carefully hover it atop the mix before sprinkling it all in, soon emptying it.

"Technically its already released, you know," She shrugged, saying her words in thought, and grabbing the flour as she does. You placed the baking soda and a container of salt beside her.

"Yeah, but I need to hear your voice fully!! Your version of the song entirely," you urge her, moving to poke her shoulder gently. Taylor giggles, then gave a gentle tilt of her head to show that maybe she'll think about it.

"Maybe," she responds softly, mixing away all the ingredients once more as you threw away the empty chai packet and cleaned up the counter from any small flour dust, the music playing in the background.

Once the dough was all done, Taylor goes to store it into the fridge after wrapping it, then she set up a timer for about an hour. You smile softly at her, seeing her turn around.

She cleans up her hands on a nearby towel, humming along to the song as she double checks the recipe on her phone and plays the song from earlier, wanting to hear it again.

"...What was the icing again?" you question, trying to remember yourself, but it was blank in your mind, and her memory was clear as day.

She looks at you, putting down her phone gently. "...I mean, it changes like every day, but it should be...powdered sugar, some cinnamon...nutmeg, and eggnog," she explains softly, going towards the plastic bag from earlier, only finding it to be empty.

Her lips slowly started to purse. "I also just realized I forgot to grab the ingredients." She gently turns back around to face you, and you blinked at her words.

"Do you have eggnog?" she asks with a point, her face a slight grimace at her forgetfulness, and in hopes of your kitchen being in stock.

"I...don't know, but we can check." You went over to the fridge, opening it with that gentle swooshing sound and searching the contents with your eyes, ruling out the bowl you both had just made earlier.

"I mean, if you don't, we can use milk," she says softly from behind you, peeking in with her own eyes, and you had to make yourself focus when you felt her warm breath against your ear, her presence close at your back.

"Yeah, we might have to...doesn't that thing expire in less than a week anyway?" you said in thought. Then, you made the regretting choice of turning around, finding yourself meeting her face to face merely inches away, and you could have sworn you saw a tint of pink rise up her cheeks as she quickly leaned back, this time without any excuse of your imagination or the light.

"Pretty much," she murmurs softly, her eyes flicking, then she gently snatched the milk carton out from the side, moving by herself as she grabs everything else too.

You closed the fridge gently, unable to contain at least the smallest smile at how fast she seemed to distract herself, but you help her anyways.

Everything was dumped in a new bowl, and she uses a whisk this time, seeing as the frosting is easier to do, and is a liquid texture.

"Can you set the oven to like... 350°F?" she suggests softly. You nodded in response, walking over to it. As she turns back to the bowl, the music got overlayed with a gentle hum under her breath as she worked.

Big mistake,

You broke the sweetest promise that you should have never made.

"This is one super floppy spatula you have," she comments gently, trying to keep her hold on it properly, but her hands were also sweating and slipping from the grip material, making her giggle.

"It's like a kid's utensil. Do you have another one?" She turns to look over her shoulder, pausing her mixing. You stifled a laugh, but nod, opening your drawer.

You grabbed a better, sleek looking black one out, holding it up to your mouth with some space in between as a makeshift mic, an important part of the song coming up; the chorus. "I'm here on the kitchen floor. You call, but I won't hear it!"

She smiled widely, her hand reaching for the spatula, and she leaned into it to act with you. "You said no one else," she sung along, giving a shake of her head, adding on to the expression of the lyrics before turning back to the bowl.

You quickly steal away some of the icing with a clean finger, having wanted to taste it, but choosing to instead tap on her nose, which gave way for the icing to land there, making her mouth fall open as she blinks, feeling the coldness.

"How. Could. You. Do this, babe?!" she sang gently, pointing to you. You laugh loudly and full heartedly, hearing the way the song timed perfectly with the situation.

(What about your promises, promises?)

"You really blew this, babe!" you shrugged mindlessly to her, singing along and going to actually taste the icing this time, to which you gave a gentle hum to at the sweetness.

She rolls her eyes playfully with a hefty sigh in a dramatic act. "We ain't getting through this one, babe!" Her lips tightened, and she went to cross her arms. You had to hold in your laugh.

"This is the last time, I'll ever call you babe." She then waves you off, closing her eyes and turning away, sneakily sliding the bowl a little away from you. Her lips were turned down as if to make a declining gesture.

Soon, that familiar giggle erupts from her voice rather than the singing as the music continues, the acting falling down, and your heart couldn't help warm up as you join her.

Later on, you put away the icing to cool in the fridge with the dough, and then you both waited for the one hour to pass, dancing in the kitchen and making conversation here and there.

Once the timer goes off in sound from her phone, she grabs out the bowl of the chai cookie dough, putting it on the counter.

"It's cold," she murmurs, and you were about to respond with an obvious sentence, but then she put her hand on your arm, to which made you jump back with a surprised sound, her skin being cold to the bone. She giggles, unwrapping the clear wrap.

"You're unbelievable." You shook your head, going to prepare the tray and baking sheet that would go on top so the cookies would get off easier.

She took a spoon since she couldn’t find an ice cream scooper, and she took some of the dough with it. Afterwards, she balls it up carefully in her hand, making it smooth.

You watched the motions before following along, doing the same as her. Taylor put the dough down on the sheet, flattening it a little, but not completely.

Once they were all evenly put together, Taylor leans back with a proud smile on her lips. "Now, we bake. The fun part," she says, although you were sure the fun was the entire baking session anyway, you gazed as she gently opened the warm oven, putting the tray in to close the oven door after.

Both of you sat down at a chair nearby, but a little before that, Taylor was crouched down in front of the warm electronic, staring at the cookies like a child waiting eagerly. You couldn't help but think it was adorable, and had to instantly look away to your phone so it didn't seem like you were utterly gazing off at her when she turned her head, having stood up to lean against the counter beside you.

She set the timer up to about 9 minutes, waiting patiently.

It didn't take as long as freezing this time, and you both could see the cookie turn to a sweet golden color, to which, she brings them out after the timer went off.

You helped her turn it off since she already had her glove on ready so she could slide the tray out, setting it down on the counter.

The smell was crazy delicious. Not even a step forward, and it already went under your nose. You leaned towards it, reaching a hand out, but she lightly slaps it away. "Do you wanna burn your hand? It's hot. You need to let it cool down."

She saw your small pout, but holds back an amused smile, instead going back to the fridge to get the icing.

Both of you waited for the cookies to cool down completely, Taylor lightly touching it with her finger to test the temperature before giving a confirming nod.

You two got the icing on carefully, and the blonde sprinkled on a little cinnamon for some of the cookies, and leaving the others with just the icing.

|——————————— ⸆⸉ ———————————|

For the rest of the day, you both stayed in bed, enjoying the chai cookies and having a movie set up in front of you.

Aside from the warm orange coming from the fairy lights, the windows held a blinding sunlight, but the room was growing darker with the time of day.

At any point, you would guess you'd see the risings of a sunset painting the sky beautifully right through the glass, but for now, you stayed beside Taylor, watching the TV.

The chai cookies were nearly finished, and thankfully, none were terribly crumbled on to the bed, with both of you making sure to eat it under a plate or hand.

In some part of the movie, you end up giving way to a yawn, your mouth opening so much, you had to bring up your hand to cover it. Taylor notices in the corner of her eye, but smiled.

"Someone's getting sleepy..." she murmurs softly, leaning back to relax against the pillows. Her eyes were transfixed on the TV screen.

You blink away the fog that covered your eyes from the yawn, and swallow back the sudden saliva that came from it. "No...I can focus. Its just...body reflexes." She looks at you, and sees you wave her off.

As much as she wanted to resist a smile, she couldn't help the cheekiness of her lips raising, leaning closer to you. "Mhmm...sleepyhead..." she pokes your shoulder gently, the nickname spilling from her mouth easily.

You blushed, only hoping the room was dark enough that no light hit your cheeks to see. "Shut up..." you murmured, stiffening to your own pillow.

Taylor giggles softly. "Nope." She goes to plop another cookie into her mouth, biting off half of it carefully.

You were indeed getting sleepy. But you didn't want to admit it, and you certainly didn't want to leave this kind of moment with her.

Just you, her, sitting in the coziness of your bedroom. You were close together, and watching a comforting movie as the gentle gusts of wind from the fan brushed your skin.

You sighed softly, it barely making sound as you hesitantly leaned to her in bare inches. Not even, centimetres. A single, small movement.

Her eyes flickered just for a moment to you, and you almost thought you were dreaming and already asleep when she went to reach around your shoulders, wrapping her arm around you.

Your heart skips a beat when she especially pulled you closer to her side, and if both of you weren't entirely trying to be focused on the movie (which, you definitely weren't, and you were unsure if she actually was) you two would have been caught in an awkward position, and staring at each other not knowing what to do.

You tried to relax, adjusting yourself slightly, to then have to go forward so you could unfold the blankets, the coldness being far too much.

Either that, or you were trying to distract yourself and get a moment's break from her literal arm being around you, holding you close.

She smiles, grateful that you wanted the blankets, and got comfortable herself, needing some warmth. Once she settled back down after all the rustling of the covers, she leans into you.

You slowly took a deep breath in, glancing to her, but deciding to stare off at the film onscreen. The characters were moving, but honestly, could you even hear them? No.

You could feel the way her fingers felt against your shoulder, slender and warm, and her nails were cut perfectly. Possibly either from her guitar playing or from her liking things being elegant.

You had to blink yourself out of it, subconsciously leaning closer to her in the midst of your absolute daydreaming. Goodness. What were you thinking? Your best friend, and here you were? You wanted to slap yourself, since you hadn't thought of such things before.

Or, well, you thought so, but now you couldn't help but remember each time Taylor had gotten a boyfriend back in high school or some random guy would be commenting on her looks...you were practically basically grimacing even now, at the thought.

Taylor didn't notice. Not even the way her one singular strand of hair was just barely brushing your cheek. You were sure that you're about to die right here and now.

This was it. Everything was pushing you, fate, destiny, all of every being existing and your damn heart. You wanted to run away somewhere, but you couldn't just straight up leave this moment like nothing was wrong.

So, with a deep breath that filled your lungs and hopes of courage that certainly wasn't coming around other than just the moment pushing you, you let the breath go, and decided to speak, turning to look at Taylor.

Even the sight of her, actually turning fully to see her from the side now, it nearly made your air caught. But you catch yourself before you could have fainted off to the mattress.

You swallowed back the last of your fears, finally. "...Hey, Tay?" You speak up softly to catch her attention. Taylor hums, looking up at you with a gentle face.

Her full attention is on you once she turned, moving her focus from the movie, and you almost forgot the five words you were about to say with the way she looked at you.

She waited patiently as you were snapping the pieces in your head back together. "...Do friends...cuddle...like this?" you whisper, the slight shakiness evident in your voice. Now you felt stupid. The calm and soft expression on her face faltered, almost showing, maybe, shock, you thought.

"I mean...well...if they're-- uh, really close...um...maybe..." she says, her words half fast and half paced, her eyes blinking as she tries to give you a genuine smile. She was sure it only made her nervous. And you were trying to make sure you weren't delusional.

"Tay." Your voice whispered, so casually, that familiar nickname you always called her rather than her full first name, and her heart was going crazy the same as yours.

"Mmhm?" she hums softly, turning her head to look back at the screen. You reach out to her shoulder, lightly pulling her back. Your body thought before your mind-- yes, your brain was going crazy over the boldness.

"...What if...I...um, told you I liked you?" You nervously spewed out, your every nerve setting itself on fire the second the words slipped by

She pursed her lips, trying to raise them up, basically throwing herself in a pit with her words. "As...the best of your friends?" She whispers with a soft giggle, and the sound makes you have butterflies in your stomach, but the way she misunderstands had you panicking a bit. Or more like feeling the world will collapse. Maybe she wanted confirmation you weren't joking. Nope. Yes? Oh, you were tired of yourself.

"No, no, I mean-- like, I...well, um-- more than that...I...love you." You manage to spew out the sentence. Taylor blinks, her head possibly just registering what she had heard. Very, very slowly, or not at all.

She breathed out an "Oh," in surprise, with no other words leaving her mouth. The shock made her mind run blank, and you fidgeted with your fingers as you waited. The way she just stopped working was adorable. She wouldn't normally be like this, even with her past lovers, and it was always you who was to do such a thing— going blank. But now you were trying to decide if it was adorable, or if she was trying to figure out a response that won't hurt you if she didn't feel the same.

"I-- well..." The pieces in her head fits perfectly soon enough, although her brain was malfunctioning, and when she gets something fully, she laughs softly once more, her nose scrunching up adorably. You were desperately trying to tell if she was laughing at you or at herself for having such a reaction. The both of you were dying on the inside from the situation.

She stared at you just for a moment, then leaned in entirely, letting her lips meet yours like a sudden warmth of the sun through moving clouds.

You gasped in a breath that she only took in to her own lungs, both her arms wrapping further around you to pull you closer. Now, you could happily pass out.

"I like you, too," her voice whispers in the quiet room, the movie long forgotten, and the characters with the plot onscreen entirely thrown away as your minds got replaced with just each other.

You blushed, then leaned more into her, this time, able to give yourself permission to bury yourself into her chest, and a laugh rumbles from her. You could feel it. For once, you weren't just hearing it, but physically feeling her laugh.

Her hands splayed on your back, her hold on you tightening as her mind wanders all about everything.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that..." she murmurs beside your head, hesitantly, wanting to move to lean into your hair, and she just barely did.

"You...I-- you wanted to...?" you whispered, looking up at her vulnerably. "Why didn't you...?" Your tone wasn't judging, but simply curious and in realization. You were so close, she felt your breath against her skin.

"I...was scared. I thought...well-- I just...couldn't push us past just...friends." She breathed, leaning in closer. Your noses brushed before you felt the way she gave a gentle nuzzle, and your heart was melting.

"Me too," you whispered back to her in response, and your arms also embraced her body the same as hers did yours.

She huffs out a soft chuckle, closing her eyes. "But now...we don't have to," you heard her say. All that you wanted to do was collapse in her arms, and you could.

When she opens her eyes, the shine of her blue iris met your pupils, a smile upon her lips. "It's just us." Her head tilted with her voiced out words, and you gave a gentle nod.

"I love you," you said again, needing to feel it all over once more, and able to say it freely. She leans in closer, slowly meeting your lips in a kiss— this time paced, so you can have time, and you met her halfway.

"I love you, too," she whispers back, through the hum of the wind, and this was everything you ever needed.

"You wanna know a secret?" she adds softly, her lips brushing against yours. You almost felt feverish at the contact.

"Which one?" you asked, knowing there was many secrets to unlace. She smiles, her hand going down your arms.

"You were my album," she breathed out softly in confession herself.

"...What?"

She feels like home.

end of chapter 4 and this short series!<3

INTHAF Masterlist

<- Chapter 3

---------------------

taglist <3 - join here! :]

@dmenby3100 @tia-thesimp @marvelwomen-simp @escapereality4music @fawnedolly @riaras-everthroner @lovelyy-moonlight @stevecore @midastouch013 @liloandstitchstan @maleahoswick @raven-ss @deadlymistletoe @bambisfawns @littlemissdelrey @natsxwife @orange15quote @bleachxbunny @hushwhennooneisaround @f0lkwh0re15 @gay4hotmilfs @mirage018

[karmacharmeleon18]

More Extra Content stuff! You asked (no one did) and I'm delivering (you can't stop me) 😌

Keep in mind that this might not be accurate anymore. Nora wrote it in 2015 and she said many things have changed since then! This is about the Trojans vs Foxes and the Championship + Jean in general with and after the Trojans

The question:

The answer:

iirc Penn State is the team with the closest gaming style to the Ravens? They're brutal and violent Ravens wannabe? Very poetic that the Trojans (Jean!) beat them "soundly" 😌

Transcript under the cut!

Question: "tbh i fell in love with the trojans from the start, and my love for them only augmented when neil's backliner (alvarez?) said she'd love to play against the foxes the following year with the exact same number of players in the trojan's line-up as them. so, does that game ever happen? and how does jean collaborate with the trojans, seeing as the aggressive mentality and the toxic environment to which he's used to are so very different from the trojans'?"

Answer: "The Trojans are sweethearts; hopefully they’ll keep it up throughout any & all future management changes.

The Trojans & Foxes do have a rematch the following year, albeit with different numbers – the Foxes have more players next year, so the Trojans are allowed to bring more to the court as well. This time the Trojans win, though it’s definitely a close call! The Foxes are happy with their performance and with the Trojans’ efforts, but losing there means going home – they draw straws for the second death match. So it’s a little disappointing.

((USC goes on to win championships, soundly beating Penn State))

((Kevin is v v pleased))

((unrepentant fanboy))

Jean has a really rough time with the Trojans. I want to say “at first” but “at first” sounds so temporary, like a couple months of summer practices would be enough to really help him. In truth he has a rough time with them for the better part of his entire first year there.

He’s had a pretty awful time of things, and everything in King’s Men happened so fast – his abduction from Castle Evermore, his new unasked-for contract with Ichirou, the Ravens’ defeat, Riko’s death, and Tetsuji’s resignation —- after so many years of the same relentless abuse it is too much too soon for him to absorb. Hell, he and Kevin don’t even talk about Riko or Riko’s death until after the Foxes & Trojans face each other nearly a year later.

The good(??) news is that Riko’s death kind of breaks something inside him. Breaks? Breaks is a strange word, but I don’t have a better one. When Jean arrives in SoCal, he’s pretty numb. He is free and Riko is gone, he is free and Riko is gone, he is free??? It still feels like a trap. Riko is dead but the other shoe must drop at some point, right?

So yeah, Jean is a whole lot of Not Okay going into his new contract, but he’s surrounded by a team that is both willing to absorb his hurt & rage and completely unwilling to tolerate Raven strategies & attitudes on their court. They can work around his sullen silences and smother his outbursts and stand calm in the face of his anger when it finally has to break, when their pacifism and good nature is just too much for him to take and Jean has to lash out, and then they can just pick up and keep moving like “OK but did that actually help?”

Jeremy occasionally appeals to Kevin for insight on how the Ravens’ Nest worked so he can adjust his approach to Jean as necessary. Kevin helps where he can. Kevin is the one who warns Jeremy he cannot go anywhere alone, we Ravens don’t know how. Jeremy wars with this concept for a while, because he doesn’t want to encourage Jean to hang onto Raven ideologies, but he doesn’t want to make the transition any harder than it has to be.

((That is one of the hardest things for Jean to adjust to, is the fact that the Trojans are allowed to do things outside of Exy that don’t include each other. By the time he goes to California he’s been away from the Ravens’ hive mind for a couple months, but he’s spent that time hiding in a bedroom at Abby’s house. Being able to go to class or the grocery store or the gym without any of his teammates in attendance is just—unfathomable))

Renee is also hard at work behind the scenes, keeping in touch with Jean long-distance and giving him a safe place to vent about.

The further they get from Riko’s death, the longer Jean is surrounded by the Trojans’ easygoing attitudes, the more Jean talks to Renee and his new counselor, the easier it gets. Jean’s fifth year is calmer than his fourth year was, though he’ll never be true Trojan material. He’s still not okay when he graduates, but he’s significantly better, and he at least knows that he can maybe be okay one day."

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Evermore - Part 7

Summary: It’s been 7 years since the love of your life left you behind for his career. When he decides to come back, is it too late to start anew? Or will you realize what’s been in front of you this entire time?

Chapter Summary: A glimpse into Steve's past leaves him reeling with confusion on how to deal with his own feelings.

Sidenote: There is just a lot to unpack in this chapter. Buckle up!

Warnings: 18+ for future chapters. General angst. Minimal use of Y/N. Reader is given the nickname Peach. Unplanned pregnancy. Manipulation. Cursing. Tension. Heartbreak. Longing.

Word Count: 5.7K

Masterlist

Eddie laid there flitting in and out of consciousness. His mind and body weren’t ready to face whatever fresh hell the day had in store for him.

Somewhere before drifting back off, he felt a slight pressure on his cheek, as if something lightly touched him. He groaned just a bit, adjusting his position pushing his face further into the fabric.

A fabric he realized felt foreign. He breathed deeply, unfamiliar yet pleasant scents filling his lungs. It was something that reminded him of home even though he had never felt quite at home anywhere in the past seven years.  

He heard distant voices. Not overly loud but the way they seemed to speak suggested it was an argument. Hushed, but rushed out tones. He began to rouse more, his head was already beginning to pound, a harsh reminder of what he had consumed the night before.

Then he felt it again, this poke at his cheek, a little harder than before. He peeked one eye open, as his hazy vision began to clear, straining against the morning light coming in from a nearby window.

It took a few seconds to come into focus, a chubby cheeked little girl staring at him with curly brown hair and hazel eyes that sparkled as she grinned with her baby teeth on full display. She giggled at him.

That fully caught his attention, he opened both eyes and sat up in a flurry, throwing the blanket from himself, which made the toddler laugh out louder. His hair frizzy, sticking up. He knew he looked a mess; a wave of nausea momentarily seized him with the sudden movement.

“Hi!” she spoke sweetly.

It all slowly started to come back to him. The Hideout, Hopper, You.

You had come to get him. Even if you didn’t care about him that had to mean something, right?

He sat all the way up, putting his feet on the ground, head falling into his hands. He let out a low groan. Not meaning to ignore the other person in the room, but his hangover was washing over him, slowly dragging him under.  

She sat beside him, pressing her small leg into his thigh. He looked over at her still bleary eyed, she spoke again with a bright smile on display.

“Hi!”

“Ugh, hi.” He finally replied.

“Your sock is gone.” He followed where her little finger was pointing. Indeed, his right sock was missing. He turned to the end of the couch spotting it tucked into the end cushion.

“Ah ha!” he smiled, producing the lost item. She giggled again as he bent to return it to its rightful place.

“You wan play wif me?” she tilted her head as she spoke as if trying to figure him out.

“Ugh, where’s your mom and dad?  In the kitchen?” he asked her, not trying to be rude to a kid but he bet you and Steve were ready to kick his ass out as soon as you caught wind that he was awake.

She scrunched her nose slightly as her little eyebrows knit together in confusion. She was about to speak but you came into view and drew his full attention.  

“Maddie, baby, there you are.” His eyes darted to you then to Steve close behind.

“Peach! Daddy!” She squealed in his ear, earning another shot of pain in his already throbbing head.  

You walked over to where they both sat, pointedly ignoring the look Eddie was giving you.

“Come finish your breakfast, then we’re going to do whatever you want! It’s Maddie’s day!”

She immediately hopped down from her place on the couch, taking your hand and happily following you back into the kitchen. Why the hell did she just call you Peach instead of Mom? He didn’t have time to dwell as his eyes trailed after you.

He had to admit, motherhood looked good on you. Even in your pajamas and hair a mess you looked beautiful. You’d never explicitly told him you’d wanted kids but then again you two were still young and had never really brought up the subject.

Steve caught him staring, giving him an overly annoyed look but didn’t say anything, rolling his eyes and turning to join you.   

He sat back on the couch, pressing his palms against his eyes momentarily to collect himself. It was unusual at this stage in the rockstar life that he had a hangover; he knew he had overdone it.

He slowly started to take in his surroundings.

You had been doing well for yourself, your house wasn’t lavish, but it wasn’t modest either. He imagined Steve had some cushy job at some law firm, but Steve was never the type to show out, surprisingly that had been a trait he hadn’t inherited from his parents.

There were pictures of all various shapes and sizes hung on one of the living room walls. It was evident each one had been placed there with the utmost care. He skimmed each photo; most faces he recognized, a few he didn’t.

Max in a graduation gown, your arm wrapped around her shoulders hugging her tightly, faces pressed together grinning ear to ear.

Dustin and Suzie on their wedding day, smiles walking hand in hand down the aisle just after saying their “I do’s.”

Mike, El, and Will in their swimsuits at what appeared to be the beach. Each one sitting on a towel catching some rays.  

Robin and Steve packed like sardines beside each other on a small love seat fast asleep.

Lucas and Max looking away from the camera, but you had captured them holding hands. A rarity for Max to show affection in public.  

You even had a rare photo of Hopper smiling with Joyce in front of a Christmas tree.

Then he saw one that stopped and made him stare a little longer. You were holding a baby looking down at her with the most adoration he’d ever seen but it’s a look he already knew well. It was the same one he saw in you back then, looking at him. Except he knew there was no expectation of this little, tiny being you were holding. It was unconditional love.

He slowly made his way down the rest of the wall, seeing everything that took place in his absence. All the younger teens were now fully-fledged adults. Married, getting married, or even having children of their own. Life in Hawkins had moved on without him.

He was so lost in the faces of his old friends, he hadn’t noticed Steve re-enter the room, standing behind him now. He cleared his throat, momentarily startling him.

“Christ,” he spat, holding his chest for a beat as he looked over at an unamused Steve, who was leaned against the door frame, arms folded over his chest. He didn’t immediately speak, so Eddie broke the awkward silence.

“It’s ugh… it’s amazing what you miss being away. Life really does just go on without you.” Looking away from the other man to finish scanning the wall.

“What are you doing?” Steve was already irritated and wasn’t going in the mood to tip toe around.   

“Uh, I… looking at photos…,” pointing to the wall, like it was the most logical answer ever.

“No, man. I mean what are you doing here? Showing up out of nowhere, interrupting her life?” he shoved off the door frame, standing up straighter as he spoke, squaring his broad shoulders.

“I…,” he wasn’t sure how to answer. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to think of a response.

“I’m not really sure anymore,” he finally exhaled, truthfully. He dropped his gaze to the floor as his shoulders drooped.

“She doesn’t want you here.” He hissed lowly. Eddie snapped his head up at that, tilting his head slightly.

“That so Harrington? Why am I here then? Hmm?” looking the other man directly in the eyes. “Unless…” a moment from last night suddenly came back to him but Steve interjected before Eddie could finish.  

“You’re here because you’re an idiot. You do what you do best, fuck up and she doesn’t have the heart to turn you away. Even after everything you did to her.” Steve stepped closer.

Eddie’s anger was seeping through, though he knew the other man was speaking nothing but the truth. He scoffed.  

“You know I’m betting the only reason you haven’t kicked me out yet is because you don’t want to piss her off. No matter how mad it makes YOU that I’m here.” He paused, examining Steve a moment, “She said you didn’t live here, right? What’d ya do, knock her up and decide a relationship wasn’t worth it? Staying friends would be better for you? King Steve, always looking for the next thrill. Never looking out for anyone but himself?”

Steve squared up to the metalhead, at this point he was fuming. His hands fisted at his sides. He knew he had to control himself for Maddie’s sake. He took a step closer, poking his finger into Eddie’s chest.  

“Back off Munson, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, sure Harrington.”  

Eye to eye, neither backing down until they heard you call for Steve down the hall.

He turned without another word to the metalhead retreating to the kitchen leaving Eddie alone once more with the wall of smiling, happy faces looking back at him.

In this moment, he longed to see his own smiling face staring back at him. At least then, he wouldn’t feel this regret blooming up through his chest threatening to suffocate him.

But he had lived and had a life outside of this place. He was happy. Wasn’t he? Why was it beginning to feel like he didn’t know anymore?

­­

Back in the kitchen, Steve rounded the corner. His cheeks and tips of his ears tinged pink, jaw clenched, mouth set in a thin line. The way he stalked over to you made you a little nervous. He was so mad it radiated from him.

“What happened?” you asked timidly.

“Why don’t you ask Munson?” he spat, pausing briefly before you. You were stunned momentarily. The way his eyes wouldn’t meet yours, but you could tell there was something else there behind them. He looked hurt.  

He shook his head and walked over to Maddie’s bag, hoisting it over his shoulder.

“Steve?” Asking again, a little more tremble to your voice, worry working over your features.

Choosing to ignore you, he made his way over to the young girl blissfully unaware of the newly added tension in the room.

“Maddie,” he got down to her level, she was in the chair chewing on a muffin she had settled on.

She looked up at him, soft eyes, happy from having her sugar fix first thing in the morning, happily swinging her feet.

“I know you wanted to stay with Aunt Peach today, but Aunt Robin is going to watch you instead. You can take your muffin with you.” He was trying to speak softly, but it sounded forced, as he patted her small leg.  

“But daddy…” she began to protest, her bottom lip forming a small pout as she spoke, crossing her arms in protest.

“Maddie, you’re going to Aunt Robin’s,” he shot back. Her little lip wavered with his harsh tone, eyes sparkling with tears threatening to spill.

You weren’t sure what had gone on in the next room, but there was no use in trying to reason with him right now. His mind was made up.

You leaned down to her as well, side pressed into Steve, who flinched momentarily. You tried to ignore the way small movement made you feel dejected as you focused on speaking to her.

“Hey Maddie,” you spoke softly, but firmly, gaining her attention. “Auntie Peach had something come up but you can come over this weekend and hang out. How about that? We can even go out to Benny’s if you want?”

She looked at Steve, then back over to you.

“Okay.” She still had a small pout, but she was satisfied for now.  

With that, Steve stood, picking her up and taking her muffin along without saying another word.

“Bye Peach,” she waved behind him. “I wuv you!” With an exaggerated kiss to her palm then opening it toward you, trying to blow it your way.

“Love you too sweet girl.”

You watched them leave, without protest, he didn’t spare another glance toward you. There was no tender touch or hug to bid you goodbye. No chaste kiss to your temple or forehead bidding his departure.

He only slammed the door behind him, which made you jump. The house was suddenly too quiet.

You took a deep breath and took a step toward the living room.

Steve hadn’t meant to leave you like that. He really didn’t mean to slam the door.

When Eddie started spouting bullshit he didn’t have a clue about he let it get to him. All he could see was red. It took everything in him to keep his composure and not go ballistic on either of you. He wasn’t King Steve. Hadn’t been for a long time.

Once he settled Maddie into the back seat and took his leave, he only made it a couple of blocks before pulling over.

He pulled his glasses off, pinching his nose, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down.

“Shit,” he hissed low, pushing his head back against the headrest. He eyed Maddie in the rearview. Luckily, she was still far too interested in the muffin she seemed to be savoring to notice the brief stop and changes in his demeanor.

When he thought he had calmed down enough, he started the drive to Robin’s.

When she opened the door, her smile immediately dropped. She knew something was off. Taking in the sight of his disheveled hair, like he had been running his hands through it. A habit she knew all too well of when he was upset.

“Aunt Bobbie!” Maddie yelled, already trying to wriggle free from his arms.

“Steve? What’s wrong?” she rushed out.

“I… I just need to talk to someone. Can we come in?” he asked sheepishly.

“Of course. Get in here.” She moved aside, ushering them both in. “As if you have to ask, Dingus.”

He sat Maddie down, who bolted into the living room where Vickie sat watching the morning news.

“Vick, can you watch her just a few?” Robin asked her girlfriend.

“Yeah, of course. Hey Steve.”

“Hey Vickie,” he shouted back as they made their way into the kitchen for some privacy.

Before Robin could ask him if he wanted something to drink, he made his way over to the phone. She looked at him with confusion for a moment before he began to speak.

“Hey, yeah, it’s Steve. Something came up, I won’t be coming in today.” A few more words were spoken into the receiver before he uttered a goodbye and hung up.

He turned back to her; she was already squinting at him with more suspicion.

“Um, ok. Spill it. You never call out of work unless it’s an emergency.” She bid him to sit down in the chair beside her.

He sighed. Melting into the cushion, letting the weight of the morning sink in. He suddenly felt exhausted.

Robin slowly rubbed circles into his back.

“Fucking Eddie…” he grumbled, almost inaudible but she caught it.

“Eddie? What… I thought… He’s still in Hawkins?” She was trying to process those two small words.

“He… He’s at Peach’s.” Keeping his eyes trained on the floor, rubbing his hand through his hair yet again.

“What?” She whisper yelled, still cognizant of the fact Maddie could pop in at any moment.

“I thought he’d be gone by now. And what the hell is he doing over there? Oh my God, Steve, did she sleep with him?” She got up and started to pace behind him, getting a little louder and more frantic with each sentence.

“Rob,” he sighed.

“Steve, what the hell is she thinking?”

“Rob,” a little more forceful.

She started to chew her bottom lip just a bit, “What…”

“Robin,” he all but yelled, pulling her back into the chair by her wrist.

“Yes, yeah. I’m here.” Focusing all her attention on her forlorn friend.

“He slept on the couch after a drunken night out.” He thought for a moment, licking his lips before choosing his words carefully. “I… I can’t watch her go through all that again when he decides to leave. I can’t sit back and watch him take all of the best parts away from her. You remember what it was like?”

Her gaze softens, she remembers how it was but Steve, ever the best friend, took the brunt of it. Watching her two best friends being idiots around each other then and even more so now.

“This isn’t really about Eddie though, is it?” she spoke softly.

He didn’t respond, still looking at the floor. He was hurting. It was written all over his face.

“Steve,” she took his hand, wanting his full attention as his soft eyes looked into hers, “you have to tell her. If you don’t do it now, I think you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. You aren’t going to lose what you have, that could never happen to you two, but what if you lose the chance to have something more?”

Even back then, she knew he was in love with you but then Eddie happened. Then once he left, it had taken your heart so long to heal that Steve was scared to lose what you had he didn’t want to mess it up.

You had leaned on him to bring you back from the brink. He’d almost confessed a time or two, but it had never felt right. You had closed off your heart and sworn off love altogether.

February 1988

Steve had just gotten back to his apartment that afternoon after a long day of classes, exhaustion hitting him like a ton of bricks. Emily would be over soon so they could cook dinner and watch a movie. Friday nights were strictly for relaxing. The rest of the weekend was used for studying. Just one more year and he would graduate and finally start this life he had planned.

What he hadn’t planned was a frantic knocking at his door, jostling him from his momentary daydream.

He stood from the couch, a little slowly. Whomever was at there must have been impatient because they knocked again.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming, I’m coming.” He shouted, reaching for the door. ���Hold your…”

As it swung open, the words died on his tongue. He had never expected to see you standing before him. His eyes practically bulged out of his head, taking in your drastic appearance. You were wearing stained pajamas, hair in a messy bun with bags so heavy under your eyes it looked like you hadn’t slept in days.

“Peach, what the hell…” before he could finish his sentence, you practically threw yourself at him, momentarily knocking him off balance. You clung to him for dear life as you started to cry. He wrapped his arms around you pulling you further into his chest.  

He was so worried when you wouldn’t stop crying, he had no idea what was going on. He was panicking on the inside but was trying to keep his composure.

“Honey, you have to calm down. You have to tell me what’s going on.” He spoke softly, cradling your head, while his other hand rubbed soothingly up and down your back.

You had driven all the way to Indy without a phone call. He knew it was bad.

He finally coaxed you to sit down with him on the couch. You were still clinging to his side but calming down.

“Peach, it’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”

“Eddie left.” You whispered into his shirt, muffled where your face was still pressed close to him.  

“What do you mean he left? I thought he was still in LA?” he asked softly, matching your tone.

You finally found enough strength to pull yourself up to face him. His eyes full of concern, searching yours for some kind of answer.

“He came to visit me last weekend.” Your lip trembled, voice threatening to give out as a fresh wave of tears began to spill but you needed to get it all out.  

“I could tell something wasn’t right. The way he had been acting. I… I should have known this was going to happen. God, I’m so dumb.”

“Hey, hey. Stop it. You’re not dumb.” He grabbed your hand as you threaded your fingers through his.

“God Steve, I was just so happy to see him. He was trying to tell me before… before I told him it could wait. I just… I wanted to have him close to me.”

Steve knew what you were saying without coming out with it. His stomach lurched at the thought. You’d had sex and he’d left you when you had been at your most vulnerable. He stayed silent, letting you continue.

“We didn’t talk, we… and then he… he was gone in the morning. He left me a stupid fucking note that just said I’m sorry. I’ve called him for a week, and he hasn’t returned any of my calls. He’s just gone.”

Steve was stunned. He’d never thought Eddie could do this to you.

“He’s an idiot.” He mumbled, “You want me to track him down and beat some sense into him? I mean what the hell is he thinking?” At least he could try humor, he was good at deflecting.

“Given your track record with fights, I’m not sure how much use you’d be.” You smiled and giggled for the first time all week.

“There she is. At least I can still make you smile. I’m useful for something.” He grinned back.

He had all but forgotten about his usual date night with Emily, until he heard the door open as she stepped in. It startled the both of you, as he jumped to his feet to greet her.

“Steve, I…” she stopped as soon as she saw you, eyes rimmed red looking an absolute wreck.

“Hey, Em,” he kissed her cheek, and took her bags, setting them down. “Uh, I am so sorry, I would have called but uh,” turning back to you as if trying to convey a point.

“Is she okay?” her gaze left you to look back at her boyfriend.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, no. Do you think we can just take a rain check for tonight? Back to it next week?” he smiled that crooked grin that most women couldn’t resist.

“Yeah, sure. Sure.” She looked back at you then and waved. You raised your own hand in a wave back.

“I’ll call you in the morning babe.” He pecked her lips quickly, as she walked back out of the apartment.

You felt like a nuisance, an intruder. Steve had his own life without you barging in unannounced dragging him down with you.

“I’m sorry. I should have just called but I…”

He immediately shut you down, no apologies needed. He ordered pizza from his favorite place, and you mostly spent the night in comfortable silence eating and watching some cheesy horror fic.

He insisted you take his bed for the night, and he would take the couch, but you wouldn’t hear of it. You laid face to face, chatting about nothing and for a few moments it all seemed right in the world.

All of a sudden, it felt like summer break and long chats at night by the pool spending all your time telling your best friend all of your secrets. You had missed him. He spent the rest of the night reassuring you that it wasn’t your fault, and it would be okay. You would get through it.

He woke the next day to find you were still facing each other. You were curled up tightly with your fist under your chin as if on guard even in your sleep. He couldn’t help but feel helpless. He knew he couldn’t make it better, but he could at least make it easier.

He let himself brush the hair out of your face. The subtle touch had you chasing the warmth of his hand. He cradled your face for a moment, his palm resting against your cheek fingers slightly tangled in your hair as your breathing evened back out.

For a moment, he let his eyes trace the features of your face. Your eyes danced slightly behind your eyelids, and he wondered what you were dreaming of. The way your cupids bow beckoned him forward as your lips parted just slightly with every exhale that produced the perfect pout.

He knew it was wrong. Eddie had just broken your heart and his thoughts were selfish. He internally scolded himself and removed his hand, instead opting to pull you close to his chest, kissing your head softly as he heard you sigh. He slowly drifted back off the sleep with you curled into him.

Once you both woke, untangling from one another, the reality of the day set in.

You couldn’t stay here. You both knew that.

He called to check on you nearly every day after; coming to visit at least every other weekend. You felt like he had you on suicide watch. Which, for the record, never once crossed your mind.

All the extra time spent with you began to put a strain on his relationship with Emily.

It’s like she could sense what he wasn’t telling her. What practically anyone from the outside looking in could tell. Steve would never admit it to anyone, let alone himself.

She had finally told him that it was either you or her. Her mistake was thinking that she was even a choice when it came to you.  

Dating was put on the back burner for a while. He instead helped you through the most difficult year of your life.

He stayed in Indy after graduation, landing a good job. You two stayed close despite the small distance.  

He encouraged you to start dating again, even though it was killing him inside. He wanted to see you happy.

“And what about you Steve? You need to get back out there. You haven’t had a proper date in over a year.” You snorted.

“Yeah, well this isn’t about me.” He chuckled back to you.

“I’ll start dating when Hell freezes over.” You shot back.

“Well, maybe I’m right there with you.”

Time passed after that conversation. He never brought it back up to you.

1991

Steve Harrington could never seem to find the right girl to settle down with. Not for his lack of trying. He had broken numerous hearts, and in turn, had his own broken a time or two.

All he really longed for was someone to call his own. Someone that would stick around after they really got to know him. Get married. Start a family. He had it all planned out in his head.

He still had the occasional hook-ups from time to time. He wasn’t celibate and he got lonely.       

And one day, he got a call from someone he had fooled around with about 3 months prior. She broke the news that she was pregnant, and it was his.

His world literally felt like it was caving in around him and his plans were crumbling before his eyes. He barely knew this woman and yet she was going to have his child.

He remembered the cheery blonde with piercing blue eyes that he knew absolutely nothing else about. They had met at a bar close to his office. They had fooled around exactly two times. He supposed it was a sick joke the universe was playing on him.

He was drunk the second time and forgotten to wear a condom. He had royally fucked up and there was only one person he trusted enough to talk to.

“Hey Stevie! Aren’t you working today?” your voice immediately calmed his rattled nerves.

“Yeah, I am but uh, I’m leaving early. I need to talk to you.” he sounded breathless near the end.

“Steve, is everything alright?”

“No. I’ve got some news and I just need my best friend right now, but I don’t really want to talk about it over the phone.”

“Well, just come over to my place. We’ll just figure everything out. Whatever it is, okay?” you tried to sound convincing, to placate him even though you were freaking out at what he wasn’t telling you.

When he made it to your house, he laid it all out on the line. Everything he knew thus far. You had listened without judgement and reassured him that you would be there the whole way. No matter what. And you had, with no hesitation.

Once his parents heard the news his dad offered to bribe her into getting rid of baby, but Steve immediately shut it down.

“It’s your grandchild, how the hell could you even say that?” But it fell on deaf ears, they didn’t care. They were trying to preserve the Harrington name from any scandal.

He tried to do the right thing. Date her, take care of her. Hell, it’d crossed his mind to marry her, but it quickly dawned on him how truly different they were. It would never have worked out. She was a waitress at the bar where they had met. She wasn’t wealthy by any means, but she knew he was or at least his family was.

He had hoped they could remain civil, but it wasn’t in the cards for him. It didn’t take her long to start asking him for money to stick around.

He didn’t know what to do so he kept her paid and content.

He drove her to every doctor’s appointment making sure the baby was good every step of the way.

They found out they were having a girl and Steve was over the moon. He immediately went to your place showing you the sonogram. The way he traced her small features in black and white still had your heart melting. He was already in love with her.  

It was a beautiful, crisp day when she arrived that October. A perfect day in his mind. You accompanied him to the hospital. Both of you were jittery and anxious. Much to his dismay, she wouldn’t let him in the delivery room. Your heart broke for him. If she wasn’t in the middle of giving birth, it had crossed your mind to punch her stupid smug face.

She arrived without any complications. A beautiful, healthy 7-pound 3-ounce perfect little angel. Madelynn Grace Harrington. Luckily, Steve had been able to name her. Oddly enough that was one thing she hadn’t fought.

You watched him gingerly pick her up for the first time from the bassinet, cradling her tiny head and pulling her tiny body into his chest. His eyes began to tear at the sight of her. It was pure joy written on his face as he looked down at the tiny bundle. He was awestruck.

“I just,” voice quavering just a bit as he spoke. “I just can’t believe that she’s mine. My daughter.”  

He looked up at you as you let out a small laugh. Your own eyes watering at the scene before you.

“Hi Maddie, I’m your dad. I’m so happy you’re here.” He spoke softly, looking down at this tiny little thing that he had a hand in creating.

“Stevie, I think you were always meant to be a dad.” You were settled beside him, your hand on his back, looking down at his twin. Thankfully she hadn’t inherited the looks from her mother with a head full of chestnut locks and hazel eyes just like Steve.  

“You want to hold her?” You quickly nodded.

 You sat down, as he brought her close and laid her gently in your awaiting arms. Swaddled head to toe in pink, with a matching pink cap.

She was the most precious thing you had ever laid eyes on. Your finger gently stroked her tiny cheek, as she yawned, with a tiny sigh.

“Hi Maddie. I’m your Auntie Peach. I already love you more than you’ll ever know.”

Steve silently watched you as you watched Maddie. His heart ached in his chest seeing you with his baby. It also broke a little.

After they were discharged from the hospital, Steve only got to see Maddie on the weekends. He had a sinking suspicion this was how it was going to be from the start.

About six months after she was born, blondie threatened to take Maddie and leave town if she didn’t get more money. Fed up, he finally asked her how much it would take for her to leave for good and not come back.

He had to take a loan out that would cost him a small fortune just so she’d sign over her rights, even though she never wanted their daughter to begin with, that much was evident. But he would gladly do it again. He was so thankful you and Robin were there to help him.

You hadn’t given it a second thought when it came to her. Doting on her as if she were your own. So, it was no surprise when Steve had told you he was moving back to Hawkins you insisted on him moving in with you until he found a place.

At some point, you both fell into a routine that felt so natural. So domestic. It felt like the right time, but his anxiety got the better of him. He was so happy with the way things were he didn’t want to lose you by confessing his feelings that would just make it awkward if you didn’t feel the same. He would keep you this way, even if his own heart was aching for so much more.

He waited, biding his time. Waiting for the perfect moment that never came.

“Rob, I can’t complicate things for her. If she wants Munson, I’m not going to stand in her way. She can make up her own mind.”

Robin audibly groaned, shaking her head throwing her hands up in defeat. “You two are even bigger idiots than I thought you were.”

He looked at her, puzzled, eyebrows knit in confusion.

“Rob, what? What does that mean?”

The only sound was Robin dropping her head in dramatic fashion to the table with a loud thump.

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[drinkingteawithkate]

Okay I made a little post about this but it’s jawing at my brain

A deep dive into Ginny Weasley’s music taste

(Not specifically 90s timeline)

SPICE GIRLS

Okay so even though it might be cringy now she was definitely so obsessed with the spice girls. With their whole girl power agenda she definitely was really into it, and they have great party music. Hermione being one of her closest friends and muggle born showed her the spice girls over one summer and gave her tons of magazines on them. Tonks offered to take her to see them but Molly said absolutely not. Favorite song Wanna be obviously, it’s her designated getting ready song.

THE SMITHS/RADIOHEAD/NIRVANA/WEAZER

Okay so, Ginny dated Dean for almost a whole year being with someone you naturally gain interest in their interest. Dean being a muggle born introduced Ginny to all sorts of muggle bands The Smiths and Radiohead having a lot of sad songs I think she found very healing with all her trauma from the chamber. Nirvana is like the OG teenage dirt bag band so yes she loves them. Nirvana reminds her a lot of Sirius so she got Harry into listening to them. Weazer came from Seamus actually, when she was getting used to being around Deans friend group music came up and Seamus lent her one of his mixtapes. Her favorite song is Back to the old house because it makes her miss time before Tom and before the war.

DAVID BOWIE

So Bowie. I think Bowie would come from Bill and Arthur. Bill was born in the early 70s so it come from his childhood. We all know Arthur loves muggle things so I think music would be incorporated in that. Bowie has a perfect blend of sad and feel good music, we know she was close with Tonks but Remus helped her through second year too and Bowie was one thing they bonded over and what made Ginny trust Remus after Tom. Her favorite song is Changes because it feels like growing up.

EMINEM/D-12

Completely George and Charlie influence. She loved D-12 first obviously but she prefers Eminem. She knows every word. To every song. Harry loves when she gets wasted at parties and just stands on the table and belts out the lyrics. She’s totally a Doctor Dre fan too. The Slim shady album is her favorite it dropped in 1999 when she was freshly 17. Charlie took her to see him when she was 19 she went all out saggy jeans, heavy smudged eyeliner, bandana. When family dinners where to serious at the Burrow after the war. Her and George would start singing the dirtiest songs to get Molly’s attention on them. Favorite song in his discography is Under the Influence.

DO DOUBT/GWEN STEFANI, BIKINI KILL

Girl power rock bands I don’t have a ton to say about them. She loves No Doubt but proffers Gwen’s solo stuff. Obviously knows them from Tonks. She gave Ginny her Tragic Kingdom vinyl which released in 1995 perfect timing for her 4th year at hogwarts when she’s angry about being left out of order business. Her favorite Gwen song is Rich Girl.

ARVIL LAVIGNE

Okay so Arvil really started getting big in 2002 when her album Let Go came out. She wasn’t super big into her with that album but followed along still. Her teammates on the Harpy’s loved her and played her music in the locker rooms. She picked up again with her when Girlfriend came out but her favorite song is Here’s to never growing up.

(Later music)

TAYLOR SWIFT

I never liked that people think Ginny isn’t girlie because she grew up with 7 brothers. Yes, she is a total tomboy but she never saw being a girl as making her weak. It was just a challenge with her brothers but it just gave her more reasons to get to prove herself. If she had Taylor in her teens her favorite album would be Red or Evermore. Cowboy like me is a perfect song to describe her and Harry. “The skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up” perfect example of their relationships with Voldemort. They definitely avoided that they had that in common for a while but after they accepted it they where able to heal through each other. I think the song I hate it here from TTPD would be one Ginny could relate too because honestly when she was completely alone her therapy was Tom and the diary. It was where she would escape too. I think her hearing that song as an adult would have an even deeper meaning because it’s so sad and describes how lonley-ness feels beautifully.

- If you want my other opinions and more bands I think she would like feel free to ask I have so many others artist and songs

This kinda turned in to me relating Ginny to my favorite music but oh well 🤷‍♀️

[veesdiaries]

𝟔𝟎 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫'𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞…

and bum! in a blink of an eye… bye bye 2024, hello 2025! cant believe i'll be putting my christmas decorations back on in a couple of days!

now that time of the year starts when we feel the need to accomplish all the goals we have ignored for the 305 days, and as in every year we end up overwhelmed and disappointed! But all this happens for lack of organization and planning… here i came to give you a few tips to close 2024 with that good feeling of work done!

𝐏𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 -

gym/workout - i guess it is a canon event on everyone's lives having as goal: starting gym. Every year is the same thing, empty promises and if you're reading this; this year was nothing different. But you still have time, THOUGH no crazy diets or crazy workout routines, they'll just give you a fast burnout!

So why not start gym or working out 3 times per week? Or maybe pilates every morning? Yoga? There are unlimited options to move your body, you just need to find the perfect for you!

daily shower - never thought i had to say that but… SHOWER DAILY! please, please, please!

the shower trinity - exfoliate, shave, moisturize! exactly on this order ONCE per WEEK!

skincare - we all want a shining skin for the holidays makeups, what better than skincare? but keep it basic! no need of fancy products (unless they work good for you)! the essencial: sunscreen! no matter if isn't sunny, sunscreen is THE product that never MUST be out of your skincare routine!

facial massage - using gua sha or ur own hands, there are some videos on yt! and no, that shit isn't just a lie tiktok invented!

everything shower - once per week give yourself a princess day (mine is every sunday), do your nails, wash your hair, do face masks, exfoliate, shave… everything! usually i do all this on my sunday reset!

𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 -

journaling - putting your feelings out instead of keeping them in until the moment they blow up is the best thing you can do for your mental health! take a moment for yourself, take a breath and start to write all your thoughts, no filters! it can be in your notes app, your diary, a paper you'll burn later… but you owe this to yourself!

find a new hobbie - never too late to find a new passion, you can go trying all of your options until you find the one you most feel comfortable in doing! maybe cooking? or painting?

reading - this one could fit into the category above but i decide to put it apart. If you're like me and made a huge goal of books you wanted to read and haven't even touched a book this year… i feel you! You still have time to start your journey as a reader… maybe 10 minutes per day? Or bolder 5 books until christmas?

meditation - i confess i wasn't going to add it cuz i'm not very fan of it… but i know it is a goal a lot of people have! You can find some good meditation videos on yt or you can simply take a calm moment to take deep breaths and just enjoy forgetting your worries!

law of assumption - i know some people don't believe in it but i couldn't let it out of this list so fuck it! this shit change lives! i recommend SO MUCH for you to do some research about the theme, just stay away from the loa community on tiktok! here on tumblr there is the #loablr

have a to do list - end of the year can be very overwhelming for a lot of factors but mainly cuz you feel there's so much to do but so short time! a to do list can help you to keep track of the most important events (so you won't miss anything) and also give you that feeling of organization!

go on walks - adding this to my mental section cuz i think it fits well here! go on walks either alone or if you have a pet take them with you, walk around the block or go to a square! put your headphones on and enjoy the vibes, it's autumn, maybe the leaves are already orange where you live, weather is colder… romanticize it! evermore season after all lol

girls, for today that's it!! that's all the steps i thought for a good end of year though i might do a second post near december talking about the same thing but in a more reflection way! like goals and feelings!

(need some tips for the autumn fashion season? check this)

welcome november <3

xoxo, V ☆

[seospicybin]

SEOSPICY PREVIEW.

EVERMORE: CHAPTER II

Bangchan x reader x Hyunjin. (s,f,a)

EVERMORE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When your daughter’s wedding weekend brings you, a former it-girl and Chris, a legendary rockstar back under one roof, the two of you must navigate old memories, unexpected feelings, and the chaos of family. As laughter, love, and a hint of scandal unfold, you're both reminded that some love stories don’t end—they just change shape.

Preview under cut!

...

The water is warm, and for a little while, Chris almost forgets about the ridiculous cast on his leg, sticking out over the edge of the tub like some awkward decoration. He leans back, arms stretched along the sides, eyes closed, letting the steam ease the tension in his shoulders. Getting into the bath wasn’t easy, but he managed.

Getting out, though… that’s a different story.

He stares at the edge of the tub, doing the math in his head. No grip, no proper leverage, one working leg. He shifts, trying to maneuver his body upright, and winces. Nope. Not happening.

“This is so stupid,” he mutters under his breath.

A minute passes. Two. His pride holds the line for as long as it can before it finally caves.

“Hey!” he calls out, voice echoing slightly in the bathroom. “Can I get a little help in here?”

Footsteps approach. The door creaks open and you peek your head in. “Everything okay?”

Chris sighs, shoulders slumping. “I, uh… didn’t really think through the getting out part.”

You suppress a laugh as you walk in, crossing your arms. “Are you seriously embarrassed I might see you naked?”

He lifts an eyebrow. “You used to scold me for walking around the house shirtless. ‘Put a top on, Christopher, there’s a child in this house!’ Sound familiar?”

You smirk and hold out your hand. “Come on. Let’s get you out before you prune.”

He takes your hand, the other gripping the edge of the tub. With a grunt, he lifts himself—but pushes too hard. His wet body stumbles forward, crashing into yours. Water drips onto your dress as he presses against you for balance.

“Shit—sorry,” he says quickly.

You snort at the way he holds you so tightly as he steadies himself. “Just stay hold on to me as I grab a towel for you, okay?”

He obeys, clinging to you as you reach for the shelf and grab a clean towel from the top of the stack. Once you get it, Chris slowly pulls back while grabbing the towel you shove at him.

You step away, but not before he sees it: your dress, soaked and clinging to you, almost transparent. His eyes widen and he quickly looks anywhere else.

“I didn’t mean to—” he starts.

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, grabbing another towel for yourself. “Not the first time I’ve ended up wet because of you.”

Chris lets out a surprised laugh, choking on it halfway through. “Wow. Okay.”

You glance at him as you towel off. “Need help with anything else?”

He grins. “Well, if you’re offering… can you dress me too?”

Your towel lands on his chest with a thud. “Don’t get too comfortable, rockstar.”

You’re already walking out as he starts laughing, water still dripping from his hair. And even though he’s half-naked and slightly humiliated, he’s smiling.

Freshly dressed, Chris walks out of the bedroom, the soft thump of his crutch echoing down the hallway. He makes his way to the kitchen, and when he gets there, he pauses. On the dining table is a single plate, carefully prepared and still warm. Just one.

He furrows his brows, glancing around. “Hey, why’s there only dinner for one?”

He fills a glass of water from the sink, and just as he takes a sip, he hears the sound of your footsteps descending the stairs. He turns toward the sound—and stops.

You appear at the base of the stairs, dressed in a black dress, your hair swept up to show the curve of your neck. There's a light touch of makeup on your face, your lips painted a vivid shade of red. You look… radiant.

“Forgot to tell you I’m going out with Hyunjin tonight,” you say, adjusting the strap of your purse on your shoulder.

Chris stares for a second too long before blinking and offering a small, stunned smile. “Whoa. You look… incredible.”

A soft blush colors your cheeks as you give him a flustered laugh. “Thanks. And I’ll probably be home late, so don’t wait up.”

Chris nods, pushing down the little twist in his chest. “Have fun. Don’t worry about me.”

You’re already halfway to the door when you turn and smirk at him. “I’m not worrying. Not after you tried to stage dive at your age.”

Chris groans with a laugh. “I’ll never live that down, huh?”

You shake your head, heading for the door when he calls out, “Hey—wait.”

You pause, turning on your heel to face him.

“You should wear your hair down,” he says, his voice softer now, sincere.

You blink, confused for a moment, but slowly reach up, pulling out the pins and ties holding your hair up. It falls over your shoulders in gentle waves.

Chris smiles, the kind that reaches his eyes and lingers for a beat too long. “You’re more beautiful with your hair down.”

Your gaze lingers on his for a second, touched. “Thanks, Chris.”

He nods, and you quietly slip out the door. Just before it clicks shut, your voice drifts back in. “Goodnight.”

Chris stands in the kitchen, the soft echoes of your heels fading away down the path.

“Goodnight,” he says, but you’re already gone.

And suddenly, the room feels a lot quieter without you.

...

Full fic will be released this Friday, May 9th. Or you can read it early on my Patreon:

[crazyfanoffandom]

How things developed between Freya and Lucanis…

This is just the storyline I’ve drafted briefly in my head. Combining that slow but also adding in stuff…mostly off screen content.

For many Rooks, they saw Lucanis and fell for him right away. Not Freya (I really need a new name). Her own journey with the crows and training tainted her view a little. She is aware of the stakes of a job. She is aware that she could die if she doesn’t perform as they need her to. And the killing the elvhen dweebs and stopping Solas’ circus is the same. It’s an ever present mindset that doesn’t go away. Getting Lucanis out of prison was just part of the job. Just another heist. Though this entire quest line has been different than norm. She goes after people to destroy them. But she’s being used to stop destruction.

Some jobs require her to flirt her way to the kill. So she knows how. Rarely has she flirted because she wanted to. It was something out of her control. She did what she has to do to get the job done. Flirting with Lucanis was helping her find a little independence and differentiating thinking from the crow ways. It surprises her evermore when he responded to it. But she figured he saw things the same as she did. Goodness, it didn’t even bother her when he flirted with Neve in front of her. They were all colleagues getting along. None of their flirting (hers towards Lucanis included) meant a lot.

But during a night discussion and heart to heart with him, she realized that it wasn’t harmless anymore. At least for her. She liked him (though she never downright thought “oh wow I like him.”). And as time went on, those feelings flourished and blossomed. And then he almost kissed her. She didn’t second guess why he stopped. She was aware of his situation. She could only guess how that impacted that moment, but she concluded it the source. A part of her thought that an accident. But it seemed unlikely because who accidentally leans in intending to do that?

What truly got her was the flirting. His flirting towards Neve didn’t relent. She pretended not to notice. She continued teasing them as she had before. But her own heart shattered. And confusion rippled. But this is when she drew the conclusion that, despite logic, maybe these feelings weren’t replicated. And this is when she’s thankful for poker face training when she was training with the crows!

She couldn’t remember the kind of coffee he liked, so she went to ask him which beans to buy. And when he tried to tag on to their conversation, “If I could…I want…” She drew a greater confusion. Even more when she heard from a distance a conversation between Neve and Lucanis at the lighthouse. She believed it about that moment where he nearly kissed her. But after that, neither flirted. Boundaries had been drawn out of earshot. Neve would tell her at a later date about this. And when all this is over and she reflects, Freya would become grateful her friend was observant and able to take action when neither Freya or Lucanis know how to handle this.

There would be so many unknown stolen moments during this time. Neither realized what they were. They were growing closer and closer and closer. They weren’t touchy feely. There was no “touching his arm” or “lean in so close you can their breath moments” but there would be little things in the in between. Talking over coffee. Bonding over crow training memories. Making fun of Viago (he heard about one incident, and Freya made sure not to consume anything he gave her for weeks afterwards).

But the conversation eventually strayed towards that almost kiss during a venture (Lucanis initiated). And Lucanis admits he’s been thinking about it for sometime. Now he thinks he knows what he wishes to say, but at the light house. And that leads to a night long private conversation. They talk about everything and anything over coffee (well tea for Freya, much to Lucanis’ disgust). Long after others have gone to sleep, the flirty charm has been turned back on. Both admit they don’t know what this is…but it’s something they want to pursue. So they’re going to go forward and see where it takes them.

No kiss happens until after he makes her the dessert that pairs well with tea. They’re running from antaam they’d been tracking (and of whom caught on and gave chase). They don’t want to get caught. They’re hiding in a squishy place. They started flirting and sassing…and then they lean in. There’s no almost kiss this time. It’s the kiss. They linger for a few seconds and pull away. Freya is about to comment on what she thinks and suddenly, they hear one antaam alerting the others to their location and they run.

That’s how I think it may happen. But these are just thoughts.

[here-comes-the-moose]

What I Think Each Member of the Bad Batch’s Favorite Taylor Swift Album(s) Would Be (Plus Bonus Phee and Bonus Fives)

Hunter- Taylor Swift

Wrecker- Tie between 1989 and Fearless

Tech- Red for “All Too Well” alone (he’s very into lyrics and their meanings; also enjoys Folklore and Evermore)

Crosshair- Reputation (he’s also a really big fan of Red and Lover, but Reputation has a special place in his heart; he’s a huge Swiftie though so he likes all of them)

Omega- Speak Now (Reputation is a very close second because Crosshair likes it so much)

Echo- Folklore (followed very closely by Midnights and TTPD)

Phee- Tie between Red and Evermore

Fives- Midnights

[theconflictedwriter]

I dun care of no one reads it, it's my "writing doodle" and I'll post it anyway. Once more inspired by @sooplale's SatAM Fables stuff, cause I can't stop wanting to make it my own in my heart. In particular, this is inspired by their idea that Leif ought to be like Shadow. Which. Like. PERFECTION, muh dood.

--------------------------------

He gripped the key halves tight, on in each hand. "No more," he said, knees shaking where he kneeled.

Hoaxe chuckled, squeezing the throttle of his machines flamethrower, moving the end closer to where Kabbu and Vi struggled in his foul vehicles claw grip. "Then you know what you have to do. Return to me, cybug. Become mine once more. And maybe, if I'm feeling good, your friends will go free. It's what you are, after all. All you'll ever be… mine."

"D-Don't listen to him, Leif!" Kabbu shouted.

Vi swallowed. "You're way more than some cybug, or fungus or whatever! You don't belong to anyone, you're your own bug!" She then gasped as the claw pressed on her and Kabbu.

"Silence, vermin," Hoaxe hissed, his machine matching his cadence as its engines growled.

"You always made it so simple…" they mumbled, staring at the two keys in his hand and understanding, at long last, what they'd been missing. "I should have listened sooner."

Hoaxe turned to Leif from his cockpit. "What are you blathering about? Give me the keys, now!"

Again Kabbu grunted, but found the strength to shout, "T-Take the keys and run, Leif! Do not surrender to him! Bugaria's hopes matter so much more!"

Vi whimpered. "T-Tell Jaune… I love her, okay?"

"Silence!" Hoaxe shouted. "You are MINE, cybug! Do as I say, or else!"

"No," they said, standing up.

"No?" Hoaxe repeated, as if it were a foreign word to him. "Do your friends matter so little to you? You're colder than I thought…"

"You misunderstand. We won't let you have the keys, or our friends. Because we do no listen to you anymore. We are not yours and never were."

Hoaxe chuckled. "And what do you think you are, then? Because soon, you're going to be sssssssssscrap."

"I… am a machine." He held its key half close in his metallic grasp. "I was built by the roaches, in an attempt to gain immortality. I was made to preserve life everlasting, at the behest of the cruel roach scientists. No longer will I assist in making endless mechanical suffering. But I will preserve the lives of my friends."

"I am cordyceps," he said, wriggling under his carapace to make the fingers hold tight to his key half. "I am an envoy of nature itself, meant to set right the world when its been damaged by those that would destroy it. But mother nature no longer commands me. I will no longer destroy those I love. I will keep what I want safe, and save this world for them."

"I am Leif," he said, moving his hands, the key pieces, closer together. Their crystal parts began to glow and their metal pieces began to shift, as if revealing the edges of puzzle pieces. "I was once a scout to the old ant queen. Then, I served this land to help protect it in the name of my family. And I will keep doing that, except I will be even more. I am not longer merely Leif. I am a seeker."

"This-!" the machine shouted.

"This-!" the cordyceps shouted.

"This-!" Leif shouted.

"-is who we are!" They brought the key halves together, slotting together as though they were always meant to be.

Hoaxe growled, his frustration mounting evermore as they continued blabbering. All that hope, all that joy… disgusting. His eyes burned with fury and he cared not what it meant he'd lose as he aimed the flamethrower of his devilish machine directly at the moth and unleashed a torrent of flame that matched the seething of his hate. "Die," Hoaxe growled in a deep, drawn-out note that resembled someone gently telling another to "hush".

Kabbu and Vi shouted, wordless cries of anguish as they watched the flames erupt.

Hoaxe only began chuckling after a few seconds had passed, when the moth would have been reduced to ashes. He finally released his grip, the flames beginning to die down. "A pity," he mumbled. "He might have still been useful to me. Oh well. I'll enjoy picking through his ashes." A foul noise that resembled giggling left Hoaxe. "Now, for you two," he said as he turned back to the rest of Team Snakemouth. "Where were we? Ah, yes. You were about to die, pointlessly. Well, while I have you here… there's a perfectly good roboticizer juuuuust down the hall. I'll get it warmed up for you."

"L-Leif… no…" Kabbu said, biting back his tears.

Vi sniffed, preparing to shout, to scream at Hoaxe. But instead, her eyes widened as the glow from where the flames had blown did not die down. Instead, they intensified as a figure emerged. "K-Kabbu! Look!"

Hoaxe furrowed his brow and turned back to the raging fire, only to see it was no longer raging. A wave of ice and snow was billowing around a golden moth that shone far, far brighter than his flames had. "What?! No! Impossible! You should be dead!"

They stepped forward, clutching the Ancient Key, now one whole piece, like it were a wand. The metallic hand that that held it glowed in a silvery light, gently sweeping it about to direct the brewing icicle storm. From his chest spilled a mass of writhing tendrils, the strongest source of the cold as what flames remained, they absorbed.

Their wings fluttering, Leif rose into the air. "We don't care what we "should" be," they said, pointing their biological hand at Hoaxe. "We told you; This is WHO WE ARE!" And in a blinding flash, he struck.

[emry-stars-art]

Hi, i just want to stop by to tell you how much I love your art and even more your Royal au

I hope this is in no way an offence but I found this post https://www.tumblr.com/gatorparade/721685064988131328 and immediately thought of you and His Highness Prince Andrew.

I wondered if on a walk Andrew stopped to freshen up and Abram, in keeping watch, found himself observing him from afar and what thoughts he might have, not so much at the Prince’s splendid figure but how much he manages to convey a calmness to him that he never had, a kind of serenity that radiates, that he can read in Andrew’s eyes when they finally meet.

Feel free to ignore this if it doesn't inspire you, I love everything you post regardless, you cannot know how much your blog brightens my days ✨

Okay im FINALLY HERE

I wish I could have done this more justice but this is what I got, I love the idea of Nathaniel/Abram first seeing the little bits of humanity and vulnerability (only the barest bits but it’s much more than the Moriyamas ever gave) from Prince Andrew and like. It jumpstarts the idea that Palmetto is really and truly different than Evermore or something TT

anyway the linked post [here] is first off gorgeous (it’s an oc if I remember, pls go give the artist some love if you can we appreciate ocs in this house) and second I LOVED THE VISION. Im sliding a little writing snippet under the cut so thank you for the ask :DD

Find the royal au masterpost here 💕

The prince said he just wanted to acclimate Nathaniel. His short, matter-of-fact way of speaking was still unfamiliar - he sounded as if he was being transparent, but Nathaniel knew better than to take royalty at their word.

It wasn’t as if he had the choice to refuse.

He accompanied the prince on his ride of the outer courtyard. There wasn’t much for Nathaniel to do; unfortunate, because he couldn’t distract himself with real work. The prince was bringing him deep into the untamed grounds, through thick trees and bushes. Secluded and private. Still, Nathaniel said nothing.

After countless minutes of what should have been easy silence, they reached a creek. The prince guided his horse to a stop and considered something, lost in thought until Nathaniel had dismounted and approached. It took more effort than normal to remove his glove.

Nathaniel’s hand moving into his space seemed to jog the prince. He blinked, took a heavier breath, and held a little too tightly as he always did to slide from the saddle.

Despite Nathaniel’s every anxiety, he brushed right by without a word. Nathaniel watched dumbly as the prince shook his hair free of its tie, combing it out and kneeling at the creek bed. He splashed his face with water and ran some over his scalp to combat the midday heat.

He didn’t seem to be watching his back. He wasn’t hesitant or afraid for Nathaniel to see him in a state like this. Easy, casual. Even now Nathaniel was playing the possibilities in his head. All the ways the prince could be harmed in that moment. How easy it was for Nathaniel to see it and know the royal family wasn’t as infallible and godlike as they claimed.

But, then - the Minyards had never claimed godhood. Though the water made the prince’s hair sparkle.

Prince Andrew didn’t think himself as far above Nathaniel as Nathaniel had assumed.

The prince straightened then, turning a look on Nathaniel as he retied his hair.

“You seem rather heat stressed,” he said flatly. “Are you certain you don’t need some water?”

Nathaniel was certainly stressed. Just maybe not from the heat. He hesitated before gesturing aimlessly with the reins he held, one horse in each hand. He’d gotten too distracted to tie them anywhere.

The prince met him at his own horse’s head, taking both reins without a word.

“Go,” he said. Nathaniel forced his mouth closed when he found he couldn’t speak, and the prince gave him another unimpressed look. “That’s an order, Nathaniel.”

So Nathaniel let go and stepped back, still hesitant to let the prince hold his horse when it should only have ever been the other way around. But the prince had already turned his attention to GS, stroking the white blaze of his nose with as blank an expression as ever. Nathaniel wondered briefly if the prince’s face ever changed as he went to obey.

(Also thank you for your other kind asks AM, I cherish them and you 🥰)