Discover Top Posts Tagged with #romanticdrama

Have you ever met someone who challenged the way you saw yourself?

Do you prefer love stories that arrive quietly… or hit like a storm?

Amazon.com: Aroha's Cowboy: The Crystal Lily: 9798244573046: McDonald, Eoin: Books

ESCAPE

pairing: jongho x reader, jealous jongho and y/n, y/n is literally kinda bitchy but not really. Jongho is down bad (like literally). smut, fluff, angst (if you reallyyyyyyyyyyy squint) jongho is literally so hot like omg. SLOW BURN

Summary: She just wanted to escape, so she went to a new place, new people, away from her hometown, which she hated. Then she saw him.... her escape

Warning: softish sex (more soft I KNOWWWW SO WERID) dirty talk, unprotected sex it's not much of hard sex but definitely dirty, swearing, alcohol. (The reader goes to the club and a party)

An: OK WELLLL I WENT A LITTLE MUCH ON THIS ONE (jongho is literally my bias sooooo teeheee) BUTTT THIS IS I THINK A SLOW BURN SO YEAH ENJOY PLS LIKE REPOSE ARE ALWAYS HELPFUL AND REQUEST

I felt an overwhelming urge to escape. It wasn’t typical for me to take a break, let alone flee from my familiar surroundings, but the burden of everything had become too heavy. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, I purchased a one-way ticket to South Korea, surrendering to the allure of the unknown. As the plane ascended, I felt my heart race, a blend of excitement and fear surging. I was leaving behind my parents, friends, and the life I had always known. Yet, I didn’t mind; the prospect of a fresh start and a new beginning in a foreign land was exhilarating.

Upon landing, I checked into a modest hotel that would suffice for my needs. I didn’t have the resources for an apartment or house yet, but I was determined to make this work. My thoughts raced as I lay my head on the hotel pillow, unable to shake the feeling I needed to immerse myself in this vibrant city. I craved excitement and adventure. A party, a club, or perhaps a bar seemed the perfect way to dive into the local scene. But did I even have anything suitable to wear for such an outing? After rummaging through my suitcase, I finally settled on a bold red dress for the night ahead.

Once I finished getting ready, I stepped out into the bustling streets. The cabs here were significantly pricier than those back home, but I didn’t mind. The thrill of being in a new place made every penny feel worthwhile. I stood in front of a lively bar, music pulsating from within. Taking a deep breath, I pushed through the heavy door and entered the vibrant atmosphere.

Inside, the bar was an explosion of sounds: loud music mingled with laughter and the cheerful clinking of glasses. It was all so exhilarating, yet I felt a knot of anxiety in my stomach. After all, I was looking for something new, but stepping into such a lively environment made my heart race. I scanned the room and spotted two girls sitting together at the bar. They appeared friendly and approachable, so I decided to take a leap and join them. I was tired of waiting for others to make the first move; it was time to take control of this new chapter in my life.

“Um, hi, I’m Ravenn! I’m new here… well, not HERE, just to Korea in general,” I stammered, instantly feeling awkward as my words tumbled out. The sensation of being a fish out of water overwhelmed me; it was challenging to navigate this unfamiliar world.

One of the girls turned toward me, her striking white hair and edgy dark makeup giving her a goth-inspired look that was cool and a bit intimidating. “Ravenn, right? I’m Rocky, and this is my girlfriend, Hannie. Just a heads-up: don’t even think about flirting with her,” she said, her tone authoritative.

"Rocky, you’re scaring her!" Hannie interjected with a playful laugh, her demeanor disarming. “I’m so sorry about that! She’s just a bit protective of me. What brings you to Korea?”

It felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders as I shared my story: “Long story short, I ran away from home because everything was just too much, so I flew out here on a one-way ticket. That’s that!”

“Oh, badass!” Rocky exclaimed, her eyes lighting up in approval. I couldn’t help but smile at her excitement.

“Really?! I just wanted to make new friends!” I responded, my heart swelling with a newfound sense of belonging.

“Feel free to hang out with us; we’d love to be your friends,” Hannie offered, her warmth enchanting.

As we chatted, I felt a sense of camaraderie forming between us. I glanced around the bar, my eyes wandering until they settled on a striking guy with a muscular build. He had a mole that caught my attention, which was on his neck and made me smile, but as I continued to stare, Rocky interrupted my thoughts.

“Oh, you really shouldn’t stare at him for too long,” she warned with a serious tone. “He’s bad news.”

“Bad news? What makes him so terrible?” I asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

“He's the type who’ll sleep with one girl, ditch her, and then move on to another. He’s downright insane. But hey, it’s your life; I just care about my girlfriend and her alone,” Rocky replied, pulling Hannie into an affectionate embrace, which made Hannie smile.

“But listen, if we’re going to be friends and he does anything messed up to you, I swear I’ll take care of him,” Rocky added, her protective spirit evident.

“Alright, that’s enough of you,” Hannie said, gently patting Rocky's head, her tone a mix of annoyance and affection. “Just be careful, okay? Don’t accept any drinks from him. God knows what he’ll do.”

“Got it,” I said, amused and grateful for their concern.

While the bar's atmosphere still felt loud and chaotic, Rocky and Hannie's entertaining banter kept my spirits high. The evening unfolded with laughter and conversation, helping me to shed my feelings of awkwardness, and for the first time in a long while, I believed that this fresh start might lead to something extraordinary.

The bar was rather dull; the only people bringing me joy and laughter were Rocky and Hannie. Meanwhile, that guy I couldn’t help but stare at seemed to notice me, glancing my way from time to time.

“Look, if you want to talk to him, go ahead! We're not stopping you. Don’t be a coward; we can literally see you two eyefucking each other,” Rocky said, clearly intoxicated.

“Oh my god, it's not like that! I just appreciate how he looks, that’s all,” I replied, lying through my teeth.

“Well, how about a one-night stand?” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Alright, I did move here to be a rebel… Fine, I’ll do it,” I said, rising from my seat as the people who are now my friends cheered me on.

As I approached him, my heart raced faster than ever.

“Hey,” I said, trying my best to sound intriguing.

“Hey,” the stranger replied, “are you going to buy me a drink or what?”

“Maybe. Why should I?” I asked.

“Well, because you were looking at me, and I was looking at you, so…”

“So?” Wow, this guy is tough to engage with. His indifference is apparent.

“Alright, I’ll buy you a drink, but you must tell me about yourself first, okay?”

This cheeky guy—“fine, deal.”

“So what are you waiting for?”

"Hi, I'm Y/N. I arrived a few hours ago after leaving my hometown for personal reasons, and now I’m here. Oh, and I absolutely love chicken." This made the unknown guy chuckle. His smile is truly one of a kind; it’s like that of a gummy bear.

“Cute, well, the names Jongho, Choi Jongho, if you will. I'm a total party animal, so maybe I’ll invite you to my party one day.” I nodded, smiling, still a bit sketchy about this dude, about what my friends told me about him

As we strolled towards the bar, laughter and conversation flowed freely between us, each sip of our drinks breaking down barriers. He captivated me with his charm—the kind of handsome that makes your heart race, yet there was an edge to him that hinted at danger. It was the perfect balance of allure and thrill, and I couldn't shake the feeling that he was everything I had been searching for.

“You just arrived and are heading to a club first. That’s quite intriguing, wouldn’t you agree?” He makes you blink a few times. You never thought of it that way. “Well, I just— I guess?”

He smiled, but it wasn't a full smile; it was that infuriating smirk of his.

Initially, you thought the club was somewhat dull, but as you got tipsy, Jongho made you laugh. He was funny all along, though.. As you began chatting with Jongho, Rocky unexpectedly appeared. “y/n, Hannie and I are heading out, but take my number in case something goes wrong,” she said, giving Jongho a thorough look as she walked away.

"I noticed you've been making friends."

"Somewhat. Are you jealous that I didn’t choose you as my first friend?"

“Somewhat,” he said, mocking your question. This is going to be a long night.

As the club meeting wrapped up, Jongho and I slowly rose from our seats, the sound of chairs scraping against the floor filling the air. The atmosphere was still buzzing with the shared moments from the gathering. With a gentle sigh, you reached into your pocket, pulled out your phone, and glanced at the screen, the glow illuminating your face in the room's dim light.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity as he peered over your shoulder at your phone screen. I let out a light sigh, trying to keep my irritation in check. “Um, I’m calling a cab…”

At the mention of the word 'cab,' his eyes widened in disbelief, as if you had just suggested something utterly absurd. “A cab?!” he exclaimed, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“Yes, the kind that takes you wherever you need to go. Ever heard of it?” I replied, my tone laced with sarcasm as I observed him roll his eyes dramatically, clearly struggling to grasp my transportation choice. “I’ve heard about a cab service,” he said casually, his voice dripping with impatiently. “But really, why take a cab when I can drive you myself?”

I frowned, lifting an eyebrow in disbelief at his audacity. “Are you serious? Why would I ever let a stranger drive me home?” My voice was tinged with a mix of skepticism and frustration.

He shrugged nonchalantly, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Well, think about it. Why would you let a stranger buy you a drink, then?” His question lingered in the air, forcing me to contemplate his perspective. Despite the apprehension I felt, his argument had an undeniable logic. Up to this point, he had been nothing but courteous, yet the rapid pace of this interaction was leaving me feeling uneasy.

“I can get home perfectly fine on my own,” he chuckled softly, his confidence evident. “But as a gentleman, I feel it’s only proper to offer you a ride.” I scoffed at his self-proclamation, shaking my head in disbelief. “Whatever, just make sure there’s no weird stuff happening, Mr. Gentleman.”

“Me? Being weird?” He feigned shock, placing a hand over his heart in mock indignation. “Well, I never!” The playful banter hung between us, slightly lightening the mood, though my reservations still lingered in my mind.

Time was ticking, and I was desperate to go home. “Well, come on, what are you waiting for? Take me home,” I said, grabbing my things and the bits of my drink and walking off, Jongho obviously following behind.

The car ride was quieter than I expected, each passing city light streaking across the windows like the ephemeral scenes of a movie playing out in slow motion. I felt the hum of the engine and the faint thrum of bass from the radio, which Jongho had set at a level just high enough to fill the silence without overpowering our thoughts. My gaze remained fixed outside, examining the dazzling urban landscape. The vibrant neon colors blurred together in a mesmerizing dance, a stark contrast to the feeling of tension that brewed in the cramped space between us.

Jongho’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel, and despite my attempts to ignore his sidelong glances, I could feel his gaze lingering on me, gauging my reaction to the night. After a few minutes that stretched on like an eternity, he broke the silence, his voice unexpectedly soft against the backdrop of the city’s chaos. “So,” he said, casually but with an undercurrent of something deeper, “can I have your number?”

The question caught me off guard. For a brief moment, I weighed the implications of giving him my number—the potential complications and the uncharted waters it could lead us into. Yet, there was something genuine in his tone that sparked a flicker of intrigue. With a hesitant nod, I relented, handing him my phone. “Yeah, okay,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. “But no weird texts at 3 AM.”

He chuckled, a playful smirk spreading across his lips as he punched in the digits quickly and handed my phone back. “No promises,” he quipped, the glimmer in his eyes suggesting he was up for the challenge. “But I’ll try to keep it PG.”

As the car pulled up to the curb of the hotel, the lively atmosphere buzzing just beyond the glass, he paused, turning to look at me, a semblance of seriousness replacing the playfulness on his face. “You know,” he began, his gaze steady and earnest, “there’s a party tomorrow night. My place. You should come. Bring your friends if you want. Just… come.”

A thrill shot through me, mingled with apprehension. A party with him? It felt like a dangerous yet tempting invitation, like standing at the edge of a cliff and staring into the unknown depths below. I fought the urge to bite my lip as I considered his words. Everything I had come here to find—adventure, connection, maybe even a little chaos—was wrapped up in that simple invitation. I nodded slowly, weighing my options. “I’ll think about it,” I finally said, my heart racing with both excitement and trepidation.

Jongho’s grin widened, lighting up his features in the dim glow of the streetlights. “Good. I’ll send the address,” he said, the promise of tomorrow hanging in the air like the intoxicating scent of possibility, both exhilarating and nerve-wracking.

The next night arrived faster than I anticipated, a mix of excitement and anxiety swirling in my stomach. I arrived at Jongho's apartment, flanked by my close friends, Rocky and Hannie. As we approached, my breath caught in my throat. The place was massive, sprawling, and modern, clearly not what I expected from someone who seemed so effortlessly laid-back. The sound of loud music pulsed through the door, a vibrant rhythm that electrified the atmosphere, and as we stepped inside, we were greeted by the sight of bodies swaying under dim, golden lights. The air was thick with laughter and chatter, intermingled with the beat of the music.

“Wow,” Hannie whispered, her eyes wide in wonder. “He really doesn’t do anything halfway.”

“No kidding,” I muttered, trying to suppress the flutter of nerves in my chest as I scanned the room.

Almost as if he sensed our arrival, Jongho found us quickly. He looked different from the relaxed guy I met at the bar; tonight, he wore a sleek all-black outfit, the fabric hugging his form perfectly, and a silver chain dangled at his collar, catching the light in a way that made him look effortlessly cool. When his gaze landed on me, a broad smile broke across his face, and he moved toward me with a warmth that made my heart race.

“You came,” he said, pulling me into a quick hug that lingered for just a moment longer than I expected, and I felt a rush of warmth flood my cheeks.

“Yeah. We all did,” I replied, gesturing to Rocky and Hannie, who stood a little behind me, both giving him encouraging nods.

“Nice,” he said, still looking at me, the connection between us palpable.

For the first hour, the evening felt magical. Jongho introduced me to his friends, each one more vibrant than the last, and he passed me a drink that was refreshingly sweet. Even when he joined me on the dance floor, moving awkwardly at first but with an enthusiasm that made me smile, I felt a sense of belonging that I hadn’t expected. Laughter bubbled around us, and I found myself leaning closer to him, caught up in the moment.

But then, like a storm brewing, he arrived.

Tall and broad-shouldered, Minjae strolled over with a swagger that suggested he owned the place, a grin plastered on his face that could charm anyone. My stomach twisted as he approached, his confidence almost palpable. Within moments, he was invading my personal space, laughing a bit too hard at my jokes, and, to my dismay, casually resting a hand on my lower back. The familiarity of his touch sent a shiver up my spine, but it was the look in Jongho's eyes that truly changed everything.

I felt the air shift around us, a palpable tension settling in as Jongho’s expression hardened into something fierce. His arms crossed defensively over his chest, his jaw clenched slightly in that way that suggested he was ready to spring into action. I could see him watching Minjae with a simmering intensity, a protective spark flaring in his dark eyes.

“So, y/n,” Minjae said, leaning in as if he had all the right to invade my space. “You single?”

Before I could form a response, Jongho stepped in beside me with the calm confidence of someone who wouldn’t let his territory be encroached upon.

“She’s talking to me,” he said, his voice flat, exuding a calm but intense presence that made the hairs on my arms stand on end.

Minjae raised an eyebrow, his smile not faltering. “Relax, man. Just having a conversation.”

“Yeah? Well, find someone else to talk to.” Jongho's voice dropped lower, a warning lacing his words.

The sudden confrontation caught me off guard, and I stepped back slightly, feeling the tension in the air. “Wow,” I said, my voice slightly incredulous. “Is this a thing? You get jealous that easily?”

Jongho turned to me, and for a fleeting moment, I could see the hardness in his face soften, revealing a glimpse of vulnerability behind the bravado. “I just… I invited you here. I didn’t think I’d have to compete for your attention.”

“You don’t,” I replied firmly, feeling emboldened. “But you also don’t get to act like you own me.”

His jaw tightened once more, and I could sense the internal struggle churning behind his eyes. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but ultimately just nodded in quiet resignation before walking away, melting into the crowd like a shadow casting itself apart from the light. I stood there, feeling a mix of confusion and exhilaration, my heart racing as I processed the unexpected turn of events. The evening’s magic seemed to flicker, overshadowed by the tension that now hung between us, like an unresolved chord in a symphony waiting to resolve.

I stood there for a moment, my heart racing. Minjae had vanished too, sensing the tension. Hannie and Rocky came up beside me.

“Well,” Rocky said with a smirk, “that escalated.”

“You okay?” Hannie asked gently.

“Yeah. I just… didn’t expect him to care that much.”

Rocky sipped her drink. “Care? Girl, that man looked like he was about to go to war.”

Later that night, I stepped out onto the rooftop, the cool air brushing against my skin, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the bustling party inside. My eyes caught Jongho, who stood alone, leaning against the railing, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. The neon lights of the city below flickered like stars, casting a kaleidoscope of colors that painted his solemn profile. He didn’t acknowledge my presence as I approached, the tension between us palpable.

“You mad?” I asked, breaking the silence that hung heavily in the air.

“No,” he replied, his voice low and edged with disappointment. “Just… disappointed in myself.”

I arched an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “That’s new.”

His gaze remained fixed on the distance, lost in his thoughts. “I didn’t want to be that guy. The jealous one. But when I saw him touching you, I— I don’t know. It just got under my skin.”

I wandered closer, leaning against the rail beside him. The metal felt cool against my arm, a stark contrast to the fiery emotions swirling within. Silence enveloped us, thick and uncomfortable, as I pondered the duality of the evening—a night that had begun with laughter, which had now morphed into an unexpected confrontation.

“I came to Korea to get away from drama,” I confessed quietly, my gaze drifting to the shimmering skyline. “But here I am, right in the middle of it again.”

Jongho turned to face me, and I glimpsed the vulnerability in his eyes, softening the sharp lines of his earlier angst. “I don’t want to be drama for you, y/n. I just… like you. More than I probably should.”

His words hung in the air, and my breath caught in my throat. The admission felt like both a weight and a release, bringing forth a warmth that fluttered in my chest.

“Then maybe don’t act like a walking red flag,” I whispered, half-serious, but also teasing in an attempt to lighten the mood.

He smiled, a playful smirk beginning to form, reminiscent of the carefree laughter we had shared the night before, yet this time, there was a tenderness that softened the edges. “I’ll try.”

In that captivating moment under the canopy of stars, everything around us faded away, leaving just the two of us suspended in time—a fragile stillness that felt achingly beautiful.

---

The morning light burst through the thin hotel curtains, unrelenting, as if it had a vendetta against my groggy state. I shielded my eyes, squinting against the brightness, but the sunlight didn’t bother me nearly as much as the dull throb in my head from the drinks. It wasn’t the hangover, however, that weighed on my mind; it was the memory of Jongho’s voice—the tremble of jealousy, the longing in his gaze, the intensity with which he looked at me, as though he considered me his already, without uttering a word about it.

With a resigned sigh, I propped myself up slowly, brushing the hair from my face, each movement reminding me of the night’s events. As I reached for my phone, a single message lit up the screen, pulling me from my thoughts.

Jongho [2:14 AM]: “Hope you made it back safe. Sorry about earlier. If you’re free sometime, let me make it up to you. No pressure.”

Reading his words, warmth flooded through me, an intoxicating mix of excitement and hesitation. There was something about his gentle apology and the promise of making it up to me that stirred hope within me, a glimmer of potential amid the uncertainty that had unfolded. I rested my head in my hands, contemplating what had transpired and how everything had shifted between us.

I stared at it for a while. It wasn’t overbearing. It wasn’t creepy. Just… simple. Thoughtful. Still, I left it on read.

Later that day, Rocky and Hannie dragged me out for coffee at a quiet spot near Hongdae. They had that kind of infectious couple energy, the kind that made you roll your eyes but secretly crave it too.

“So,” Rocky said, sliding into the booth across from me, “Jongho, huh?”

I groaned. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” she teased. “He’s kinda… whipped.”

“He doesn’t even know me,” I muttered, stirring my iced americano too aggressively. “It’s all surface-level. He wants the idea of me, not the real thing.”

“Then let him get to know the real thing,” Hannie chimed in gently. “You don’t have to fall in love. Just… let people in.”

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

I didn’t see Jongho again for a while. Maybe that was on purpose. I kept busy—job hunting, exploring the city, learning bits of the language, trying to build a life that didn’t revolve around someone else. But he didn’t disappear completely.

Sometimes he sent memes. Sometimes music recommendations. Never too much. Always spaced out. He didn’t push.

And I hated that it made me smile.

Then one day, I got a message.

Jongho [6:47 PM]: “There’s an art exhibit opening this weekend. A little quieter than a club. I remembered you said you wanted something different. Wanna come?”

This time, I typed a response… then deleted it. Typed again. Deleted again. Finally:

Me: “I’ll think about it.”

I went.

Not for him. For me.

That’s what I told myself, anyway.

The gallery was small, tucked between cafés, but it was peaceful. Clean white walls. Soft music. Paintings that made you stop and feel something. Jongho was already there, dressed simply in a button-down and jeans, hair a little messy like he didn’t try too hard.

“You came,” he said, smiling like I was the last person he expected.

“I said I’d think about it,” I replied, brushing past him and heading toward a piece that caught my eye.

He followed, of course.

“I wasn’t sure you liked this kind of stuff,” I said as I studied a painting of a woman staring into a cracked mirror.

“I don’t,” he admitted. “But I liked the idea of being around something quiet. Something real.”

I glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at me—he was watching the painting, brow slightly furrowed. Serious. Thoughtful.

Maybe not all surface-level, after all.

We wandered the gallery slowly, not always speaking. It was… comfortable. He didn’t try to flirt. Didn’t try to make a move. Just stood next to me, quietly reading titles and occasionally offering a small smile when I caught him looking.

Afterward, we sat on a bench outside under a streetlight, the city humming softly in the background.

“Why are you trying so hard?” I asked suddenly.

He looked at me, taken aback.

“You don’t even know me. And yet here you are, taking me to art shows and walking on eggshells.”

He exhaled, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

“I don’t have a good reason,” he said honestly. “I just… want to. You don’t owe me anything, Y/N. You can keep shutting me out if that’s what you need. But I’ll be here, okay? Not trying to impress you. Just… trying.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I said nothing.

But for the first time, I didn’t feel like running.

The weeks that followed felt like a blur. Somehow, Jongho became a constant in my life. We weren’t dating. We weren’t anything. But he was always there.

Random texts.

A coffee waiting for me on days I didn’t ask.

Jokes that made me laugh even when I was in the worst mood.

He never asked for more. He just showed up. Quietly, steadily.

I told myself it was harmless. I told myself I didn’t feel anything.

Until she showed up.

Her name was Jisoo. Pretty, confident, the kind of girl who didn’t need to try. I met her at a small gathering Jongho had invited me to, and the moment I saw them talking — too close, too familiar — something twisted in my chest.

I watched them from across the room, her hand lightly brushing his arm as she laughed at something he said. He wasn’t flirting. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. But I hated it. I hated her. I hated the way I suddenly wanted his attention more than anything in the world.

I left early, pretending I had a headache. He offered to walk me out. I told him not to bother.

And then… I ghosted him.

I didn’t reply to his texts.

I avoided the usual places we’d run into each other.

Rocky noticed.

“You’re mad at him,” she said one day as we sat outside a café.

“I’m not,” I replied quickly.

She gave me a look. “You’re mad at him for something he didn’t even do.”

I stayed quiet.

“Just be honest with yourself,” she said. “You like him.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Y/N.”

I took a slow breath, staring down at my drink.

“I don’t know what I feel,” I whispered.

That night, I scrolled through old messages from Jongho. The dumb memes. The playlists. The good morning texts he never expected replies to.

My chest ached.

The next morning, I saw him.

He was across the street, laughing with some friends. He looked fine. Like I hadn’t disappeared. Like it didn’t matter.

But then he looked up — and he saw me.

His smile faltered.

We stared at each other for a moment.

Then he crossed the street.

“I was starting to think you blocked me,” he said with a soft laugh.

I couldn’t even look at him. “I’ve been busy.”

“I figured.” His voice was quiet. “Did I do something wrong?”

I shook my head, still avoiding his eyes. “No.”

“Then what is it?”

He didn’t push. He just stood there, waiting.

Finally, I looked up. His face was calm, but there was something behind his eyes. Hurt.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I said.

“That makes two of us,” he replied.

There was a pause.

“I missed you,” he said quietly.

Something inside me cracked.

And for the first time, I admitted it — not out loud, not even fully to myself — but deep down where it mattered.

I missed him too.

Maybe more than I wanted to.

After that run-in, things shifted — not all at once, not dramatically — but in small, quiet ways.

I didn’t ghost him again.

But I didn’t exactly seek him out either.

He’d message me, and I’d reply. Eventually. Sometimes. If I was in the mood.

When we hung out, it was with Rocky and Hannie. I made sure of that. I needed the buffer. I told myself it was to avoid things getting weird again. But really… I was scared. Scared of what it meant that I cared.

Because I did. Way more than I should.

One night, we all met up at a late-night food stall. The air was cool, and we sat under string lights that gave everything a soft, warm glow. Jongho sat across from me, chopsticks in one hand, his other scrolling through his phone.

“Try this,” he said, leaning forward to hold out a bite of tteokbokki with an annoyingly confident smile.

“I can get my own food,” I said, eyebrow raised.

“I know. But this one’s better. It has extra sauce. I picked it for you.”

I stared at him for a second too long. Then, reluctantly, I leaned in and took the bite.

“Okay,” I mumbled through the food. “That’s actually good.”

“Told you,” he said, grinning like he just won a game.

I looked away, trying to hide the smile tugging at my lips.

It was little things like that. Nothing huge. Just him… being him. Consistent. Patient. Still never pushing.

I caught myself watching him sometimes. Laughing with Rocky, bumping Hannie’s shoulder playfully, talking with the food stall owner in broken Korean just to make them laugh. He was loud and sarcastic and annoying — but he had a way of making people feel comfortable. Even me.

Even when I didn’t want to be.

A few days later, he texted me again.

Jongho [3:16 PM]: “This bakery just opened near my place. You said you liked pastries, right? Wanna check it out this weekend?”

I stared at the message. My first instinct was to say I was busy. Keep my space. Keep control.

Instead, I typed:

Me: “I guess. Don’t make it weird.”

Jongho: “Weird? Me? Never.”

When Saturday came, I almost didn’t go. I stared at my closet for thirty minutes before throwing on something simple and telling myself it wasn’t a date. Just friends. Just pastries. Just casual.

He was already waiting outside when I arrived. Hands in his pockets, beanie over his hair, and that same lazy grin.

“You look… not annoyed to see me. That’s new.”

“Don’t get used to it,” I said, brushing past him and heading inside.

The bakery was cozy and smelled like cinnamon and sugar. He ordered something chocolatey for himself, and without asking, he ordered a strawberry pastry for me.

“How did you know—?”

“You mentioned it once. Back at the bar. First night we met.”

I blinked. I didn’t even remember saying that.

“You remember everything, don’t you?”

“Just the things that matter.”

I looked away, heart stuttering.

We sat in a booth by the window, people-watching and trading bites of pastries, arguing over which was better. At one point, I caught myself laughing — genuinely laughing — and when I looked at him, he was already staring at me.

“What?” I asked, immediately defensive.

“Nothing,” he said, that smirk softening into something quieter. “You just… look happy.”

I rolled my eyes and looked out the window. “Don’t get weird on me.”

“I won’t,” he said. “Not unless you ask me to.”

A few days later, Rocky dragged me to a rooftop get-together. I wasn’t in the mood, but she insisted. Said it would be good for me. Normal.

Jongho was there.

So was she again — Jisoo.

Of course she was.

I tried not to react. I told myself it didn’t matter. But when I saw her standing next to him, laughing again, holding a drink in the exact way she had last time... something cold settled in my stomach.

I watched for a while. Too long. Until Jongho looked over and caught me staring.

He excused himself from the group and walked over, hands in his pockets.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” I said, voice flat.

“You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He blinked, confused. “I just— you looked— never mind.”

I hated how disappointed he looked. I hated how I wanted him to explain himself. Like he owed me anything.

So I left.

I didn’t say goodbye. I just… left.

The next day, he didn’t text.

And I hated how that made me feel even more.

It happened two nights later.

I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about everything — him, Jisoo, the bakery, the night market, the rooftop, the dumpling, the way he said he liked the version of me that let him in.

I checked my phone. No new messages.

I opened our chat. I typed something. Deleted it. Typed again.

Me: Are you awake?

Three dots appeared.

Jongho: Yeah.

I stared at the screen for a long moment. Then:

Me: I was jealous. The night of the party. Of Jisoo.

There. It was out.

My heart pounded.

Jongho: You don’t have to be.

Me: I didn’t say I wanted to be.

Jongho: I know.

Jongho: But if you were… does that mean you feel something?

I closed my eyes, fingers hovering over the screen.

I could lie.

But I didn’t want to.

Me: I think I do.

I hit send.

Then threw the phone across the bed like it might explode.

But when it buzzed again, I grabbed it in half a second.

Jongho: I’ve felt something since the first night you walked into that bar in that red dress. I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.

Two days passed since I told him.

Since I finally admitted it — even if just over text — that I might feel something.

He hadn’t pushed. He hadn’t followed up. He gave me space, like he always did.

And it made me restless.

I kept glancing at the door, checking my phone, pacing the floor like something was about to happen… and I wouldn’t know what to do when it did.

I had just gotten out of the shower, towel around my shoulders, hair still damp, when I heard the knock.

Three soft taps. No hesitation.

I froze.

Another knock.

I wrapped the towel tighter around me, inching toward the door. I didn’t ask who it was. I already knew.

I opened it slowly.

There he was — standing in the hallway, hoodie on, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on mine like he already knew I’d answer.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. “I was walking around. Ended up here.”

“Right,” I said, barely above a whisper.

He looked past me, into the room, then back at me.

“Can I come in?”

“You ok?” he asked

I crossed my arms, trying to hide how much his presence unsettled me. “I’m fine.”

He smiled softly, stepping closer. “No, you’re not. You told me you were jealous. That’s not ‘fine.’”

I looked away, biting my lip.

“You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready,” he said quietly. “I just wanted you to know I’m here. Whatever pace you need.”

I swallowed hard, meeting his eyes again.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

He reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle but deliberate.

“Y/N,” he said softly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time, I believed him.

Jongho took a step closer, his presence filling the space between us. His eyes darkened, locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. His hand brushed against mine, fingers barely grazing, but the contact sent a ripple through me, warm and unexpected.

“Been thinking about you,” he said low, voice almost a whisper but heavy with meaning.

I swallowed hard, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “You always say that.”

“Maybe,” he smiled, the corner of his lips twitching in that familiar, teasing way, “but it’s true.”

Slowly, he reached up, brushing a loose strand of damp hair behind my ear with the gentlest touch. His thumb traced a delicate line along my cheekbone, like he was memorizing every detail—every curve, every freckle.

The space between us seemed to shrink, but neither of us moved further. The moment hung, fragile and charged.

“Tell me if I’m moving too fast,” he murmured, his voice rich and resonant, laced with an unspoken depth—care, patience, and a tenderness that wrapped around us like a soft blanket.

I shook my head, feeling breathless, as if the air had thickened in the space between us. “I’m… not sure.”

His smile was a gentle curve, softening his features, exuding an aura of patience that felt like a promise softly whispered into the night. “Then I’ll wait.”

We lingered in that moment, suspended in time, with only the distant murmur of the city outside filtering through the stillness. The tension that enveloped us hung like a heavy, sweet mist, thick with unvoiced promises and the anticipation of moments that lay just beyond our reach—timeless and unhurried, waiting for us to be ready.

Jongho stepped closer, his presence expanding in the intimate space between us, filling it with a warmth that was intoxicating. His dark eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch in my throat. As his hand brushed against mine, the slightest graze of his fingers ignited a warm ripple through my body—unexpected and electric.

“Been thinking about you,” he said, his tone low and intimate, almost a whisper but laden with unshared meaning.

I swallowed hard, a rush of warmth flooding my cheeks. “You always say that.”

“Maybe,” he replied, a teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips, that familiar glint of mischief dancing in his eyes, “but it’s true.”

With a deliberate slowness, he reached up, his fingers gently brushing a damp strand of hair behind my ear, a touch so delicate it felt like he was afraid to break the spell we were under. His thumb traced a careful line along my cheekbone, exploring my features as if he were committing them to memory—every curve, every freckle etched into his mind.

The distance between us diminished further, yet neither of us crossed that invisible line, both of us acutely aware of the weight of the moment. It hung in the air, fragile and charged with the energy of unspoken words.

“Tell me if I’m moving too fast,” he murmured again, the sincerity in his voice palpable, echoing that deeper emotion I could feel vibrating between us.

I shook my head once more, caught in the shimmering intensity of his gaze, barely able to draw in a breath. “I’m… not sure.”

His smile deepened, radiant and patient, a promise painted across his lips. “Then I’ll wait.”

We remained suspended in that beautiful stillness, the quiet hum of the city outside the only sound to accompany us as the weight of our unspoken communication filled the air—heavy yet sweet, a tapestry of possibilities ready to unfold whenever we were both ready.

The kiss began softly, our lips brushing gently together as if testing the waters. A rush of warmth spread through me, igniting every nerve ending as I melted into the moment. His hands found their way to my waist, fingers grazing the fabric of my shirt and sending shivers down my spine. There was a sense of urgency that only intensified the sweetness of our connection.

As the kiss deepened, it felt like the world around us disappeared. All I could focus on was the taste of him, a tantalizing mix of mint and something uniquely him. My hands instinctively tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and I could feel the gentle weight of his body as he guided me back toward my bed.

We moved together, a fluid motion that felt so natural. With each step, anticipation built within me, mingled with a hint of nervousness. Once we reached the edge of the bed, he paused, looking into my eyes with a blend of desire and sensitivity. “Is this okay?” he asked softly, searching my gaze for reassurance.

In that moment, I felt a rush of emotion, a mix of excitement and vulnerability. Though I was bubbling with uncertainty, I nodded, my throat dry and my heart pounding in my chest. Yet, he wanted more—he wanted to know that I was truly on board with this unwritten boundary we were about to cross.

“Words, my love,” he encouraged, his voice low and inviting. The warmth of his breath sent goosebumps across my skin. Taking a deep breath, I finally managed to speak. “Yes, it’s okay,” I murmured, finding a newfound confidence in my words.

A smile broke across his face, illuminating his features with an infectious joy. “Good,” he replied, and in that instant, the tension lifted, replaced with a shared understanding. We leaned into each other once more, our lips meeting with renewed fervor.

The kiss now overflowed with passion; it wasn’t just about curiosity anymore. Our chemistry ignited as if two flames had come together, each kiss more fervent than the last. His hands roamed gently over my sides, igniting trails of heat wherever they went. I lost myself in the sensation, feeling free and alive as every kiss drew me further into this beautiful moment of exploration.

Together, we navigated this thrilling new territory, discovering not just each other but also the exhilarating feelings that swirled around us, making this night unforgettable.deeper, more urgent, reflecting a mix of excitement and curiosity. I felt his hands gently cradle my face, pulling me closer as if to eliminate any space between us.

Before I knew it, he was guiding me toward my bed, the world around us fading away. I felt a rush of butterflies in my stomach, a blend of anticipation and nervousness swirling within me. As we reached the edge of the bed, he paused, looking into my eyes, searching for reassurance. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, my heart pounding, but words escaped me. The mix of emotions left me feeling breathless, overwhelmed but in a good way. It was as if time stood still for a moment. But he wanted to hear me, to know that I was truly comfortable. “Words, my love,” he prompted gently, a hint of a playful smile forming on his lips.

Gathering my courage, I found my voice. “Yes, it’s okay,” I finally replied, my words steadying our shared moment. His smile widened, warmth radiated from him as we resumed our kiss, a blend of passion and tenderness as we began to explore this new territory together. Each moment felt like a sweet discovery, and I knew that whatever happened next, we were in this together. He kissed my neck and licked it, causing me to moan, "Oh, you like that, don't you, girl?" "I guess it feels good," I said, causing him to shake his head and chuckle, oh that fucking chuckle. "You really want to say that when I'm about to fuck the shit out of you?"

Our clothes were eventually scattered on the floor, and he looked amazing in his boxers more than I really imagined. He was facing me as I was lying on the bed, "Take it off."

"What?" I said, getting caught off guard as he grabbed my hand and put it on his boxers. "Off now... please," he said with pleading eyes

'I couldn't say no to that and grabbed his boxers and pulled them down, making it fly free, it wasn't long, it was big as fuck. He notices the look on your face, "Don't worry, I'll go nice and slow. For you, darling, just please let me go inside your pussy. Oh fuck please." I nodded and scrambled to take my panties off. Something about his pleas fucked me over, and I loved every second of it. As soon as I nodded, he dove right in, kissing sloppily on your neck. "Jongho put in it already, please." he listens, putting his fat cock inside my pussy. "Oh fuck darling, your pussy is so fucking tight," he whines as he stays there waiting to move as much as he wants to. It stings, it's not your first time, far from it, but Jongho's cock is bigger than anyone you've had before.'I couldn't say no to that and grabbed his boxers and pulled them down, making it fly free, it wasn't long, it was big as fuck. He notices the look on your face, "Don't worry, I'll go nice and slow. For you, darling, just please let me go inside your pussy. Oh fuck please." I nodded and scrambled to take my panties off. Something about his pleas fucked me over, and I loved every second of it. As soon as I nodded, he dove right in, kissing sloppily on your neck. "Jongho put in it already, please." he listens, putting his fat cock inside my pussy. "Oh fuck darling, your pussy is so fucking tight," he whines as he stays there waiting to move as much as he wants to. It stings, it's not my first time, far from it, but Jongho's cock is bigger than anyone I've had before.

As it started to feel better, I tapped him and asked him to start thrusting, and he listened, "fuck.." I said as he started to get faster, "fuck darling, you're really tight, no one has fucked you right, huh darling?" I nodded. "What did I say before? words," he said firmly in my ear, making my whole body shudder "n-no" "good little baby," he said, going faster than before. The whole hotel room bed was shaking, and it started to smell like sex

"fuck baby, your tight fucking pussy is going to make me cum deep in your fucking guts, can you feel it?" I didn't take him as the type to talk this dirty in bed. "Yes, I feel it."

This night just keeps getting better

bonus:

I woke up looking at the side, seeing if Jongho was still there.

he wasnt

panic started to rise as I arose from the bed. I look next to me to see my phone, but before I could look at it

"Good morning, darling." There he was, hair still messy, hickeys on his neck to remind you what happened last night

god, you surely did escape

Subscribe to the new channel! reblog for others to find and enjoy the classics :)

Jane Eyre (1943) HD Orson Welles & Joan Fontaine, Elizabeth Taylor | Full Romance Classic Film

Sofia | Steve Harrington

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: Between drugs, the cinema toilet floor, a confession, and a surprise… what could possibly go wrong? Especially when Robin admits she’s in love with Steve’s girlfriend, and that Lila once loved her too.

And the first girl I ever loved.

- Listen... this is hard to admit. Especially for you, Steve. But I really like you guys. I mean it. But I'm not like your other friends. Definitely not like Nancy Wheeler or whoever.

- Why is that a problem? Steve asks. We're not asking you to be Nancy Wheeler. We already have one, and that's more than enough. He smirks.

I smack him lightly.

- You know when, in the Russian base, I told you about Mrs. Click's class? About being jealous? And obsessed? Robin continues.

I frown, confused.

- Yeah, Steve says.

- No, I add, making her laugh nervously.

- It wasn't because I wanted to date you, Steve. Her eyes fill with tears. It's because... she wouldn't stop looking at you.

- Mrs. Click? Steve asks, confused.

- Lila Hopper Mayfield, Robin says softly, tears shining in her eyes as she looks at me. My own vision blurs. I wanted you to look at me. But you couldn't stop looking at him and he's stupid hair. A tear slides down my cheek as one falls down him. I didn't understand. You dropped bagel crumbs everywhere. You asked the dumbest questions. You were kind of an asshole. You hid her from everyone when all I wanted was to scream that she existed. I'd go home and scream into my pillow.

- But Lila's a girl, Steve says slowly.

- Steve.

- ...Oh. His eyes widen. Oh.

- Yeah. Oh.

She looks back at me.

- Lila... you pass out or something? she jokes gently.

I smile sadly.

- How long did you feel that way about me?

- The first time was before high school... she admits.

- You should've told me.

- What would've been the point?

- I would've told you that back then... I cried into my pillow too. Because I felt the same way about you. And I couldn't admit it to myself. So I kept it inside.

Another tear slips down my bruised cheek. Steve and Robin stare at me.

- Wait- what?! Steve blurts. You like girls? That explains so much...

- I thought it was obvious. The way I'd comment on girls you complimented. The way I'd blush around Robin. The fact that I dressed up as David Bowie because I'm obsessed with him. I laugh softly. That doesn't mean I don't love you. I figured out I liked boys because of you, Steve. I don't regret falling in love with you for a second. But if I'd known about Robin three years ago... I don't know what would've happened. I lower my gaze, then look back at her. Robin, you should never have been ashamed. Loving someone isn't shameful. It's the most beautiful thing there is. I reach for her hand. You're the coolest girl I've ever met. And the first girl I ever loved. That means something. I'm sorry I'm not the right one but you'll find someone even more amazing than me. Even if that's hard, because I'm kind of perfect. They both laugh. Who knows? Maybe it's Nancy Wheeler.

Her eyes go wide and she blushes before laughing too.

I lean in and hug her tightly.

- I love you, Rockin' Robin. Thank you. For everything.

- I love you too, Cherry Bomb. I don't regret you being my first heartbreak.

When I pull back, Steve is staring into space.

I touch his shoulder.

- Steve? Did you pass out?

- No. I'm just... thinking. He smiles faintly. I mean, yeah, you're both... hot and everything. But still. You're such losers.

Our mouths drop open.

- Excuse me?! I shove him lightly. Robin is your friend and I am your girlfriend, dumbass!

- I stand by it, he teases. Robin, you're in marching band writing melodies for Tammy Thompson, who sings like a Muppet. And Lila, you're on the school paper with all the nerds but still play in a rock band with Eddie Munson and his gang of freaks. Embarrassing.

- They're hobbies! Robin defends. At least we have some. Unlike Mr. Basketball who got outplayed by his girlfriend's stepbrother.

My jaw drops then I burst out laughing.

- Okay, fine, Steve shrugs. At least we don't sing like a Muppet.

- You're exaggerating! Tammy Thompson does not sing like a Muppet, I argue.

- I agree, Robin says, pointing at me.

- You're both insane. She can't hold a note. It's torture. He starts singing in a ridiculous nasal voice.

- Shut up, Robin laughs. She does not sound like that.

- I'm doing a perfect impression.

- No. You sound like a Muppet! I point at him.

- She sings like a Muppet! he laughs. Like a Muppet giving birth!

We all burst into laughter and start singing together:

🎶 And if you could hold me tight, we'll be holding on forever... 🎶

We're in full hysterics when the bathroom door slams open and Dustin and Erica storm in, furious.

- Okay! What the hell now?! Dustin snaps. Lily, you too? Seriously?

The three of us look at each other for two seconds and burst out laughing again, Steve collapsing against my leg while I lean against Robin's shoulder.

➤ Read the chapter on Wattpad.

Swgatspp - All-american bitch

(Find it on Wattpad!)

🧜🏻‍♀️ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1: ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪʀᴇɴ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ🧜🏻‍♀️

ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜰᴏʀʙɪᴅᴅᴇɴ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ + ᴍʏꜱᴛᴇʀʏ + ꜱʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ

⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:

ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʙᴀɴᴅᴏɴᴍᴇɴᴛ

ᴍɪʟᴅʟʏ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴛᴏɴᴇꜱ

ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴍᴀɴɪᴘᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

ᴀʟᴄᴏʜᴏʟ ᴀɴᴅ ɴɪɢʜᴛʟɪꜰᴇ ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ

ꜱᴜʙᴛʟᴇ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ

The night in Italy held the kind of warmth that did not demand attention. It moved subtly, like a lover’s breath on the nape of a neck, brushing past open shutters and gliding across rooftops aged by centuries of forgotten secrets. The cobblestones, smoothed by time and footsteps, shimmered faintly under a half-hearted moon, and the air, velvet and still, carried the scent of orange blossoms, distant firewood, and slow-burning memories. There was a rhythm to the country after dark, one that couldn’t be taught, only felt. A hush that suggested something sacred, something waiting.

Beyond the revelry of the more boisterous piazzas and away from the spectacle of tourist-fed alleyways, there existed a place most could only dream of, or fear. It had no signage, no identifiable name. Only those invited knew where to find it. And even fewer had the privilege of returning. To the world, it was myth. To those within, it was sanctuary.

Nestled in the shadow of a dormant chapel and shielded by a towering iron gate wrapped in flowering ivy, the bar stood like a secret promised to no one. Guards flanked the entrance, tall, silent men in pressed black suits with eyes that missed nothing. Inside, the air did not merely shift—it cloaked. Dim lights swam through gentle smoke, amber bottles glinted like ancient treasure, and the music, a syrupy jazz that curled around every edge, seemed to slow time itself.

But even that faded when she sang.

(Y/n) Amato was not a performer. She was a presence. Under a single golden spotlight, framed by a curtain the color of deep wine, she stood like a relic of another era. She did not dress to impress. She dressed like she had nothing to prove: sleek silk in unforgiving cuts, heels that clicked against marble with intention, and gloves that hid the only parts of her she refused to show. Her eyes, though—eyes that saw through the bluff and bravado of the room—remained bare, defiant, and quietly aching.

The voice that spilled from her lips held contradiction: delicate but powerful, restrained yet raw. She could silence the room with a single note, not because she demanded it, but because something in her tone dared you not to listen. It wasn’t simply beautiful. It was haunting. It carried within it the ghosts of a girl who never got to be one.

Men tried, of course. They always did. They brought diamonds and declarations, hoping to buy her time. But she entertained only those who intrigued her mind, not her ego. She dismissed socialites and influencers without so much as a glance. Actors were ignored. And race car drivers? They were forbidden.

Because her story did not begin with song. It began with betrayal.

Her mother had once stood in that very same spotlight, long before (Y/n) took her first breath. She was the bar’s prized jewel then: poised, magnetic, and devastating in satin. Her voice wrapped around men's ambitions and unraveled them effortlessly. Among her admirers came a man who drove fast and spoke softly. A race car driver, calm in chaos, charming in silence. He did not chase her, and that, of course, was the trap.

The seduction was slow, strategic. He paid for her time and earned her laughter. He touched her gently, spoke like he meant every word. When he finally asked for more, she gave it, not out of obligation, but belief. But the next morning, his bed was cold, and so was the room. He was gone, as if he had never existed. Only, he had. He had left a heartbeat behind.

The betrayal broke her. Not publicly—no, she was too proud for that. But something inside her, something essential, shattered. Her voice lost its clarity. Her smile its spark. She stopped performing. The bar’s Madam, once her confidante, tried to intervene. But nothing could coax her back from that ledge of quiet despair. When the child came, she refused to hold her. The bitterness that bloomed in her chest eclipsed any chance of maternal grace.

And so (Y/n) Amato became the bar’s daughter, but not her mother’s.

Madam, formidable in posture and commanding in grace, took the child in without hesitation. She, along with her three most trusted women—Sabine, Mireille, and Camille—raised her as their own. Each woman had carved a reputation for herself within the establishment. They were not merely performers. They were symbols. Of elegance. Of command. Of survival.

(Y/n) was bathed in silence and chandeliers, in the scent of perfume and the rustle of silk gowns. Her lullabies were rehearsals. Her bedtime stories were whispered conversations between powerful men. The bar was both cathedral and fortress, a place where rules were not enforced, they were embodied. And she learned them all.

She learned how to walk without sound. How to speak with precision. How to observe before responding. Her eyes became sharper than any blade, her expression unreadable. But beneath that was something else, something no one dared acknowledge aloud: loneliness.

Her mother left when she was four. No farewell. No trace. Just silence. As if the woman who had birthed her had never existed. And yet, (Y/n) still remembered the back of her gown as she walked away. The soft click of heels. The scent of her hair. The absence that followed was a phantom she never quite stopped chasing.

By sixteen, she began helping at the bar—never at the forefront. She was a waitress first, blending into the folds of silk and shadow, watching, listening. It was then that her voice made its quiet debut. A slow night, a broken microphone, a dare. She sang, barely above a whisper. But the room stilled. And Madam knew.

What followed was no swift rise. It was meticulous. Her performances were rare, her appearances curated. She did not advertise. She did not announce. But when she sang, the room swelled with people willing to trade power for presence. She became a myth in motion.

By twenty-four, she was legend.

They called her La Sirena della Notte, the Siren of the Night. Not because she lured men to ruin, but because she reminded them what it meant to feel. To long. To ache. And yet she herself never seemed moved. Her rules were clear. She would not entertain actors, nor kings of illusion. And if your hands had ever gripped the steering wheel of a Formula car, your name was poison.

Because (Y/n) Amato knew the damage men like that could do. Not just to hearts, but to lineage.

And then, on an evening painted in gold and garnet, Lando Norris walked through the doors.

He did not belong there. Not by tradition. Not by her rules. He was young, too publicly adored, and worse, a driver. But he had not come with arrogance. He had not come seeking her. In fact, he had not even looked at the stage. He sat quietly in the back, next to a well-connected engineer and a media mogul’s son, speaking in hushed tones about a business venture unrelated to motorsport. He drank water. He checked his watch. He seemed… tired.

(Y/n) noticed. Against her own protocol, she studied him. Not because he was famous. But because he seemed, in that moment, utterly uninterested in being anyone at all.

When she stepped onto the stage that night, her song shifted. She chose an old Neapolitan piece, wistful, rooted in memory, aching with restrained longing. Her eyes scanned the room slowly. They never landed on him.

But he looked up.

It was brief. A flicker of eye contact across the haze of candlelight and distance. He didn’t smile. He didn’t avert his gaze. He simply listened. Fully. And for the first time in years, her voice trembled—not with fear, but with something unfamiliar.

Recognition.

When the performance ended, he stood. He did not approach. He nodded at the engineer, murmured a farewell, and slipped out before the applause finished. No rose. No message. No offer. Just departure.

And something in (Y/n) shifted.

She told herself it was nothing. But she remembered his face. Not because it was handsome, though it was. Not because he was famous, though that too was undeniable. But because he had not tried to possess her. And yet, somehow, in those few minutes, he had seen her.

The bar returned to its rhythm. The days moved forward. And yet, the next time he came, a week later, her heart raced before she even saw him.

He never asked for her. He never lingered. And still, he kept returning.

The guards noticed. So did Sabine. And for the first time, Madam watched (Y/n) with a kind of worry she hadn’t worn in years.

Because even queens can fall prey to the echo of old wounds. Even sirens, for all their strength, can drown in the tide they thought they mastered.

And Lando Norris, with his quiet eyes and careful silences, was not like the man who had broken her mother. But that did not mean he couldn’t break her, too.

Only time would tell if she was singing to warn him away… or calling him closer.

To be continued...🧡

🧜🏻‍♀️ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2: ᴀ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ʜᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴘʟᴀʏᴇᴅ🧜🏻‍♀️

📝 Note from the Author: Hello, Alarwynnites! After what feels like a century-long exile in the dark, uncharted lands of University Assignments (yes, I survived, barely), I have emerged to bless your timelines once more. I am BACK serving you with another title—WOOOOHOOO—ready to feed your craving for overly dramatic prose and characters with more baggage than a baggage carousel at NAIA Terminal 3.

This chapter is moody, dangerous, and possibly the lovechild of a romance novel and a mafia movie that spent too long brooding in an Italian wine cellar. If it stabs you in the feelings, know that it stabbed me first while I was writing it.

To my dear Alarwynnites and every single reader still here, thank you. Whether you like, comment, reblog, or simply read quietly while sipping your tea and judging my life choices… your support means the world. Truly. Even your silent lurking fuels my unholy power.

Alright, I’ll leave you to drown in the candlelit tension and unspoken longing. See you in the next chapter. Ciao~

With love, me 🧡

Bridgerton – Season 4, Part 2

Bridgerton Part 2 arrived like a silk-gloved hand to the throat and said

“what if we gave you a wedding… and then emotionally waterboarded you with grief?”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨ Yes, yes. Benedict and Sophie get their glittering fairytale crescendo. The Queen’s Ball. The longing looks. The sweeping violins. The ring. The whole confection.

Benedict and Sophie get the fireworks in Part 2, the Queen’s Ball in full glittering delirium, the slow-burn romance snapping into place like a violin string pulled just to the edge of breaking. Critics are swooning. The chemistry is chemistr-ing. The fairytale lands exactly where it’s supposed to. Fine. Gorgeous. Applause.

But under all that satin and orchestral swelling, there’s a different temperature running through the season. Francesca’s grief isn’t staged like spectacle. It’s pressure. The show doesn’t shove it at you; it just sits in the room like unspoken bad news. And Hannah Dodd plays it with that lethal, porcelain composure where you can see the crack before you hear it. She’s not hijacking the narrative. She’s absorbing it. And I swear the camera knows it. Even in scenes that aren’t hers, it lingers like it’s testing the weight she could carry next. The way she tilts her head just slightly. The brush of a hand across her cheek. The score drops and she doesn’t move and you want to SCREAM. Tumblr is already side-eyeing this. You don’t frame a woman like that unless you’re planning to hand her the hurricane later.

She’s not taking over the ballroom. This half of the season still belongs to Benophie, all sparkle, swoon, and gowns moving slower than my heart during a cliffhanger scene. But the undercurrent is there. The potential. The seed of a story ready to bloom. You can feel it humming in the margins, quiet but insistent, like the first note of a storm you can’t yet see. If next season steps fully into that storm, Hannah Dodd is going to own it.

Benedict and Sophie got the fireworks.

Francesca got the foreshadowing.

And I am already emotionally budgeting for the possibility that next season belongs to her.

💐 Verdict: 9/10 emotionally destabilizing string quartets

🖤 Watch it if: you like your romance sweeping but your character arcs strategic

🕯 Watch it if: you believe the quietest characters are the ones with the loudest futures

I will be seated. With tea. And theories.

fuel my coffee addiction here: COFFEEEEE

Broken Heroes and Daisies: A Christmas Eve with Luigi

It’s Christmas Eve, and the rain is coming down hard in Greenwich Village. Luigi stands across the street, his green cap pulled low, his jacket soaked through. He looks lost—nothing like the man who buys daisies every Sunday.

The bell jingles as you lock the shop, but you hesitate. “Luigi?” you call softly.

He looks up, startled, before crossing the street. Up close, his eyes are tired, and his voice is low when he says, “I didn’t know where else to go.”

You unlock the door again. “Come in.”

Inside, the shop is warm, the scent of flowers lingering. He sits at the small table near the counter while you make tea.

“I don’t know if I’m the man people think I am,” he admits, staring into the mug.

“You’re just Luigi,” you say, sitting across from him. “The man who buys daisies every Sunday.”

His gaze meets yours, softer now, and he reaches for your hand. “You remind me I’m still human.”

The rain outside fades as you lean closer. His kiss is hesitant but deepens when you don’t pull away. For a moment, the world is just you and him, finding warmth together on a cold, rainy night. Inside, the warmth of the shop wrapped around them. As they sat in the quiet, the space between them seemed to fade, and in that moment, their story could go anywhere. What happened next is up to you—whether they find solace in each other or let the world pull them apart, it's yours to decide.

New Chapter is Up Now!

Zora groaned, slapping a hand on Asta’s head. "You really are an idiot, aren’t you?" he muttered, shaking his head.

Asta’s confusion deepened, frustration rising again. "What? It’s the truth! I saw it with my own eyes."

Nebra sighed, rubbing her temples as if dealing with a particularly annoying child. "Asta, you’ve known Noelle for how many years now? And you still don’t get it?"

"Get what?" Asta snapped, feeling defensive now.

Zora, clearly losing patience, stepped in front of Asta, meeting his gaze directly. "Noelle’s always been in love with you, you blockhead. Why in the world would she suddenly go for some random circus boy? Use your head for once."

💫 New chapter is up! 💫 Things are getting a little more complicated in Enter the Circus, with some honest revelations about Noelle's feelings. 🧐 https://archiveofourown.org/works/55604434/chapters/154361533