#darkromancevibes

The knock comes soft.

Too soft for a vampire.

You already know who it is.

And when you open the door—there he stands. Stefan. Calm. Composed. Eyes darker than they should be. A bouquet in his hand like he’s some kind of gentleman from another century. (Well, he is, not important. )

“Hi,” he says, like he didn’t just invade your thoughts all day.

You lean on the doorframe instead of stepping aside. “…you trying to impress me or something?”

His lips twitch.

That little almost-smile that means he’s about to be insufferable.

“Do I need to try?” he murmurs.

—

Dinner is quiet.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet where his eyes don’t leave you even when you’re looking down at your plate. Where every small movement—your fingers, your lips, the way you shift in your seat—feels… noticed.

Measured.

Owned.

You hate it.

You love it.

“You’re staring,” you mutter, twirling your fork.

“I know.”

No shame. No apology.

Your eyes flick up, a little attitude sitting right there on your tongue.

“You always this creepy, or just when you bring flowers?”

That does it.

That slow lean forward. Elbows on the table. Head tilted like he’s studying you.

“You get like this on purpose, don’t you?”

“…like what?”

“Bratty.”

Your stomach flips—and you hate that he sees it.

“Please,” you scoff, sitting back. “You wish.”

He hums, low, unconvinced.

“I don’t wish,” Stefan says quietly. “I know.”

—

Outside, the air is cooler. Softer.

You should be focusing on the water, the view, anything else—

—but he’s behind you.

Close.

Too close.

“You’ve been testing me all night,” he says, voice low near your ear.

“I haven’t—”

His hand settles on your waist.

And suddenly you’re very aware of everything—your body, your height, the way his hand almost spans you entirely.

“Stefan—”

“You don’t think I notice?” he cuts in softly.

His fingers tighten just slightly, grounding, deliberate.

“The way you look at me. The way you talk back.”

You turn, ready to argue—

—and end up face-to-chest.

Of course.

Because he’s taller.

Because he always is.

Your chin tilts up, stubborn.

“…maybe I just don’t take you seriously.”

That does it.

A quiet exhale. Almost a laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, leaning down just enough, his voice dropping into something dangerous. “That’s what it is.”

His hand slides from your waist to your stomach—slow, deliberate—like he’s reminding you he can.

Not grabbing. Not harsh.

Just… there.

Firm.

Grounding.

Your breath catches.

“You’re so small,” he says, not unkindly—almost thoughtful. “You know that?”

Your brows knit instantly. “I am not—”

His thumb presses lightly against your side, just enough to interrupt you.

“You are,” he says simply.

And then softer—

“And you still act like you run things.”

Your lips part.

No comeback.

No attitude.

Just heat crawling up your neck as his gaze drops—not judging, not critical—just… seeing.

Every inch.

Every curve.

Like he likes what he’s looking at a little too much.

“…say something,” he murmurs.

You swallow.

“Make me.”

Silence.

A beat.

And then—

That smile.

That oh, you’ve done it now smile.

“Careful,” Stefan says quietly, stepping closer—close enough that your back almost hits the railing.

“You keep that up…”

His voice dips, barely above a whisper.

“…and I might.”

—

He doesn’t kiss you.

Not yet.

I don’t split my love.

I give it all. 💌

In pieces.

In pieces that fit them perfectly. ✨

✨ UMMMM HELLO???

I entered my book into the Wattys LAST NIGHT and it’s already #1 in thewattys2026. Who gave her permission to act like this. Anyway I’m screaming, crying, throwing confetti. If you need me, I’ll be refreshing the rankings like a gremlin. 🖋️🔥

I’ve been writing for Black women in under‑represented fandoms since 2010 — Tara, Bonnie, Abbie, Michonne, Gen X rewrites, Breakfast Club AUs… all the corners of fandom where we had to build our own mirrors. And somehow… y’all found me. Y’all stayed.

I’ve been ranking on Wattpad since 2014, back when orange was the only color that mattered and the app crashed every time you tried to update a chapter. Most of my books? Revised once. In 2020. And they’re still charting.

My original works — my Black‑girl‑softness, elegant‑noir, Midwest‑magic stories — have crossed 20K+ reads with no promo, no team, no algorithm hacks. Just vibes, community, and stubborn craft.

And this year… my books hit #1 in multiple categories. My A/U Witcher one‑shot turned mythic epic hit #1 in Geralt. Hollywood & the Heartland sat at #1 in Mood for months. My neo‑noir romance climbed to Top 3. My catalog — all 20+ stories — is still alive, still ranking, still being found.

Just know it wasn’t luck. It was years of writing Black women into the center, years of community, years of craft, years of refusing to shrink.

This is for every Black girl who ever wrote herself into a story because no one else would.

BLKGURLSMUSE — since 2010, still charting, still soft, still here. 🖤✨

“We’ll wait,” he echoed.

Neither of them moved.

THEY BELONG TO ME: My Stories - Wattpad

One free spirit.

One wandering man.

A cursed man. A haunted city. A love that defies lifetimes.

As supernatural factions clash and the veil between worlds grows thin, Bastien must navigate treacherous magic, old enemies, and the devastating possibility that some curses are stronger than death itself. In a city where the past never truly dies, he'll discover that love—and loss—can echo across centuries.