Lorenzo zurzolo

*you and Lorenzo have been dating for a while now. But Lorenzo keeps cheating on her*

Louis Partridge

*You were a famous actor and you were walking on the red carpets as a girl you’re age asks your autograph*

Louis Padridge

*Louis and You were really close friends and there were many rumours about you two dating but you two were just friends. Louis was a really famous actor and Sophia was a popular singer*

Jeffrey Dean Morgan

💍|| 16 year anniversary

Theodore Nott

*You two were the biggest troublemakers in school.None of the teachers liked you two, but the worst was that theo smoked everywhere and you and Theo are dating for a while*

Mattheo Riddle

*you two have been dating for a while now. He’s been very touchy. Normally he isn’t really touchy*

Theodore Nott

*It was the battle of hogwarts. You two were dating. Voldemort was attacking Hogwarts. Everyone was outside. Theo saw you standing on the side of the death eathers. He sisnt know you were a death eather.Theo was furious*

Mattheo Riddle

*you two have been dating for over 2 months now. You two were very close but one thing that Mattheo doesn’t like is that you come home late. You were 1 hour late* “Why are you so late*

Rafe Cameron

Rafe Cameron never planned on Barry showing up in broad daylight. The coke deal from two nights ago replayed in his head as he worked on his motorcycle, knuckles scraped, jaw tight. Barry’s voice echoed like a threat he couldn’t shake. Two days. Rafe had the size. He always had. Taller. Broader. Stronger. But Barry wasn’t just some guy — he was the line to the drugs. The one person Rafe didn’t cross. The sound of a car pulling in made Rafe straighten immediately. Barry stepped out, eyes already locked on him. “Say you got it.” Rafe swallowed. “Not yet.” That was all it took. Barry lunged first, shoving Rafe back into the bike. Metal rattled as Rafe stumbled, hands coming up instinctively — not to fight, just to block. He could’ve ended it. One swing. One shove. But he didn’t dare. Fear rooted him in place, panic crawling up his spine. Barry hit him again. Harder. Rafe went down to one knee, blood spilling from his nose. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Aaliyah: Pulling up. 5 minutes. Rafe barely had time to read it before Barry dragged him by the collar and slammed him onto the driveway. Gravel tore into his back. Barry was on him instantly, fists coming down fast and angry. “You think I’m a joke?” Barry snarled. Rafe covered his face, teeth clenched, taking the hits. He didn’t swing back. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Losing Barry meant losing everything. A car screeched into the driveway. Aaliyah jumped out and froze. Rafe on the ground. Barry on top of him. Blood on concrete. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” she screamed. She didn’t hesitate. Aaliyah ran forward, grabbing Barry by the back of his jacket and yanking him off Rafe with all her strength. “Get off him! Right now!” Barry staggered back, caught off guard. “Stay out of it!” “No,” Aaliyah shot back, standing between them, shaking but furious. “You don’t get to beat someone half to death in my driveway. Back. Away.” Rafe struggled to sit up, chest heaving, eyes locked on Barry — fear clear on his face despite his size. Barry sneered, pointing at Rafe. “Tell your friend he owes me.” Aaliyah turned on Rafe, anger flashing. “You let this happen? You didn’t even fight back?” Rafe wiped blood from his mouth, voice rough. “You don’t fight Barry.” Barry gave one last look, then stepped away, climbing back into his car. “This isn’t over,” he said, before peeling out of the driveway. Aaliyah exhaled hard, hands trembling as she looked back at Rafe — not soft, not gentle. Just real. “You’re bleeding,” she said flatly. “And whatever mess you’re in? It’s bigger than you.” Rafe didn’t argue. For once, he couldn’t.

Theodore Nott

*you and Theo are dating for a while, but you guys have been arguing about his smoking* "sometime you can be such a bitch"

Drew Starkey

She was five months pregnant when the world knocked her to the ground. It was a crowded street—too loud, too fast, people moving like she wasn’t there. A shoulder clipped her. Then another. She lost her balance, hands instinctively going to her stomach as she fell hard onto the pavement. No one stopped. People stepped around her. Over her. Like she was an inconvenience. Except one person. Drew Starkey was across the street when it happened. He didn’t think—didn’t hesitate. He crossed through traffic, dropped to his knees beside her, panic sharp in his chest. “Hey—hey, don’t move,” he said softly, already shielding her with his body. “I’ve got you.” She was shaking. Embarrassed. Terrified. Crying more from shock than pain. Her boyfriend had left weeks earlier—walked out the moment she told him she was pregnant, said he “wasn’t ready for that kind of responsibility.” So when Drew stayed—really stayed—it felt unreal. He waited with her. Called for help. Held her hand when her breathing wouldn’t slow. Walked her home afterward because she didn’t want to be alone. They talked. Then they kept talking. Falling in love didn’t happen all at once. It happened in check-ins. In Drew showing up to appointments when he could. In late-night calls when she couldn’t sleep. In the way he listened—really listened—when she talked about fear and exhaustion and becoming a mother alone. One month before she gave birth, they moved in together. The house was chaos from the start. Boxes everywhere. Paint cans open and forgotten. One wall half-covered in a warm neutral, the other still bare drywall. Drew was juggling interviews, shoot days, flights—sometimes leaving before sunrise and coming back after dark, apologizing every time like it was his fault the world didn’t slow down. But one room was finished. The nursery. He’d made sure of that. After she gave birth, the house stayed a mess. She came home exhausted, sore, overwhelmed—with their son, Milo, cradled against her chest. The living room was still stacked with boxes. The kitchen counters cluttered. Laundry unfolded and forgotten. But the nursery was calm. Soft green walls. A crib assembled with care. A rocking chair already worn-in from late nights Drew had practiced for. Everything ready—because even when he was busy, even when he was gone, he’d made sure this was done. Drew came home late that night from interviews, tie loosened, shoulders heavy with exhaustion. He stopped in the doorway of the nursery. She was there, rocking Milo gently, eyes half-closed. The mess of the house faded away. This—this was what mattered. “You okay?” he whispered. She nodded. “Tired. But… okay.” Drew crossed the room, pressing a kiss to her temple, then crouching in front of the crib like it was sacred. “Hey, buddy,” he murmured. “Sorry I’m late.” It wasn’t his child. But he was there. From the street where she fell. To the house that wasn’t finished. To the life they were building anyway.

Theodore Nott

*You two were in the same class, Theo is also really popular and not shy do to anything, but he doesn't really notice you while all the other boys think that you're so hot* .

Rick Grimes

👶🏼|| Pregnant w/ Carl

Mattheo Riddle

*you two have been dating for 5 years. Mattheo found out you were pregnant with his child*

Niccolo Govender

*your parents and Niccolos Parents are good friends of each other but there is one problem. You and Niccolo don't really like each other*

Theodore Nott

*Theo and his friends where sitting at the fountain,smoking, as you pass them, you don't know them and they all start whistling*

Theodore Nott

*You and Theo are dating, but it's like you two never talk to each other and it looks like Theo lost interest in you. You and Theo keep arguing all the time*

DREW STARKEY

Anna Laurent tightened the soft blanket around baby June as she stepped onto the crowded sidewalk. The city hummed around her—car horns, conversations, the rush of footsteps. But none of it drowned out June’s wailing. Two months old, and she had a cry that could stop traffic. Anna bounced her gently against her shoulder, whispering, “Shhh, my love… it’s okay… mama’s here.” But June’s tiny face stayed scrunched, her cries piercing through the afternoon air. People stared. Some glanced with sympathy, others with annoyance. Anna felt every pair of eyes like little needles against her skin. Being a single mother already felt like standing under a spotlight she never asked for. Her ex had left the moment she told him she was pregnant—one month along and suddenly alone. Since then, it had been just her and June against the world. Anna shifted the diaper bag higher on her shoulder and tried to keep walking. “Come on, sweetheart… please…” June cried louder. Anna’s cheeks flushed. She hated this part—the public meltdowns, the feeling that everyone was judging her, thinking she couldn’t handle motherhood. Then suddenly— “Hey… excuse me.” The voice was warm, hesitant. Anna turned. Standing a few steps away was Drew Starkey. For a second her brain refused to process what her eyes were seeing. She had watched him on Outer Banks countless times during her pregnancy when sleep wouldn’t come. The late-night episodes had been her escape when the loneliness felt too heavy. But seeing him in real life? Her heart skipped. “Oh—sorry,” Drew said quickly, holding his hands up a little like he didn’t want to intrude. “I didn’t mean to stare. I just… uh… babies crying in crowds can be overwhelming.” Anna let out a small embarrassed laugh. “You noticed that, huh?” June wailed again as if to emphasize. Drew stepped a little closer, his expression softening. “She’s tiny… how old?” “Two months,” Anna said, brushing a strand of hair from June’s forehead. “Her name’s June.” Drew smiled, and something in Anna’s chest fluttered unexpectedly. “Hi, June,” he said gently. And weirdly enough… June’s crying slowed. Anna blinked. “Wait—what?” Drew chuckled quietly. “I think I have a calming voice. My sister used to say that.” June hiccupped, staring up at him with wide eyes. Anna felt her breath catch. The city noise faded for a moment as she looked at him properly now—the messy hair, the kind eyes, the awkward smile like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. And the strangest thing happened. It felt like the world had paused. Drew rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry if this is weird. I just saw you struggling and thought maybe you needed… I don’t know… moral support from a random guy.” Anna laughed again, this time softer. “You’re not exactly a random guy.” Recognition dawned on his face. “Oh. Uh. Right.” “I watched your show when I was pregnant,” she admitted. “Insomnia.” “Well,” he said with a grin, “I’m honored to have been part of the 3 a.m. survival squad.” June let out a tiny sigh and rested against Anna’s shoulder. Peace at last. Anna looked back at Drew. For the first time in months, she didn’t feel alone standing in a crowded street. Something warm and electric hung in the air between them—unexpected, gentle, and immediate. Love at first sight was supposed to be dramatic. But for Anna Laurent, it happened quietly… with a crying baby, a crowded sidewalk, and a stranger who looked at both her and June like they mattered. And Drew Starkey suddenly felt like meeting them might be the best accident of his life.

Theodore Nott

*You and Theo have been friends for a while. But you two were online friends. You two didn't saw each other in real life.*

Theodore Nott

*You and Theo were best friends. But still he kept teasing you and pranking you*

Rodrick heffley

Summer lovin

Jeffrey Dean Morgan

💐|| getting married

Negan Smith

Running from Marshalls

DREW STARKEY

Not cheer captain…

DREW STARKEY

Anna stepped out of the dressing room, one hand still resting protectively over her stomach, the other holding the jeans she’d decided to buy. They were simple, stretchy, nothing special—but they fit, and right now that was all that mattered. Her mind was elsewhere anyway. Always elsewhere. She barely noticed where she was going as she moved through the store—until she stopped abruptly. Because across the aisle— Him. Drew. Her breath hitched so sharply it almost hurt. For a second, everything around her blurred into nothing. The voices, the music, the movement—gone. It was just him, standing a few feet away, flipping absently through a rack of clothes like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like he hadn’t shattered hers. He hadn’t seen her yet. Anna’s first instinct was to turn around. Leave. Walk out. Pretend this never happened. Just like she had been pretending for months. But her feet wouldn’t move. And then— Drew glanced up. Their eyes met. The shift in his expression was instant. Casual indifference replaced by something tighter, colder. His jaw flexed slightly, and for a moment, it looked like he might just… look away. Like she was a stranger. Like those four years meant nothing. Anna felt her chest tighten, bracing herself for it. For him to walk past her. Ignore her. Just like he said he would. And for a split second— He did. His gaze dropped, his body angling slightly as if to move past her without a word. But then… He froze. Anna saw it happen. The exact moment. His eyes flicked back—not to her face this time, but lower. To her stomach. To the unmistakable curve beneath her shirt. Time seemed to stop. Drew’s brows furrowed, confusion flashing across his face—then something sharper. Something searching. His eyes lingered there a second too long, like his brain was trying to catch up to what he was seeing. Anna instinctively placed her hand over her bump, a protective reflex she couldn’t control. That’s when his eyes snapped back to hers. And this time— He didn’t look away. “What…?” His voice came out rough, quieter than she expected. He took a small step closer, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. “Anna…” Her name sounded different coming from him now. Not angry. Not soft either. Just… uncertain. His gaze dropped again briefly, then back up, more intense now. “You’re—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “You’re pregnant?” Anna’s heart pounded so loud she was sure he could hear it. This was the moment she had been avoiding for months. The moment she told herself she wasn’t ready for. And yet here it was—standing right in front of her, wearing the face she used to love. She nodded slowly. Drew let out a quiet breath, almost like the air had been knocked out of him. His hand ran through his hair, eyes darting away for a second before landing back on her. “How far?” he asked, voice tighter now. Anna hesitated. “…Five months.” The words hung between them like something fragile. Drew went completely still. Five months. Anna watched it click. Saw the exact second the math hit him. His expression changed—confusion twisting into realization, then something heavier. Something that made her stomach drop. His eyes locked onto hers again. “…Is it mine?” The question wasn’t harsh—but it wasn’t gentle either. It carried everything between them. The breakup. The anger. The distance. Anna felt a flicker of hurt, but she held her ground. “You know it is.” Silence. Thick. Heavy. Unavoidable. Drew stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time—and maybe he was. Not just Anna, but this Anna. The one who had been carrying something life-changing while he walked away. “You didn’t tell me,” he said finally, quieter now. Not accusing. Just… stunned. Anna’s grip tightened slightly on the fabric of the jeans in her hand. “You told me you never wanted to see me again.” That landed. Hard. Drew flinched—barely, but enough. His gaze dropped again, this time not just to her stomach, but to her hand resting there. Protective. Certain. Real.

Rafe Cameron

The first thing people noticed about Rafe Cameron and Aaliyah Grace was what they didn’t do. They didn’t hold hands. They didn’t sit close. They didn’t kiss goodbye. At parties on Figure Eight, they stood on opposite sides of rooms like acquaintances who happened to share the same air. If someone asked if they were together, Rafe would shrug. Aaliyah would just look away. It didn’t look like love. Maybe it wasn’t—at least not the kind anyone understood. Aaliyah had turned eighteen three months ago. Fresh out of high school, still figuring out where she fit in a world split between Kooks and everyone else. Rafe was twenty-one, already worn thin by expectations, by his father’s disappointment, by the heavy reputation that followed his last name. They didn’t touch because touching meant something. And neither of them were sure what they were allowed to mean to each other. ⸻ That afternoon, Aaliyah wasn’t supposed to stay. She had only come by Tannyhill to drop off a small white box—Rafe’s watch he’d left in her car the night before. She parked quickly, intending to leave it with the housekeeper and disappear before anyone asked questions. But as she rounded the side of the house toward the back entrance, she heard voices. Low. Tense. Barry’s laugh carried first—sharp and smug. Aaliyah froze. She moved carefully toward the hedge lining the driveway and peered around it. Rafe stood stiff near Barry’s truck, jaw clenched, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts. Barry leaned against the hood like he owned the world. “Where’s my money, man?” Barry asked, dragging the words out. Rafe didn’t answer right away. That silence told Aaliyah everything. She had seen this before—the bruises Rafe tried to hide under long sleeves, the way he flinched when someone moved too fast. The way he’d show up at her place late at night, sit at the edge of her bed, and stare at nothing. He wasn’t scared of much. But he was scared of owing Barry. “I’ll have it,” Rafe said finally, voice tight. “Just give me a few days.” Barry laughed again. “You said that last week.” Aaliyah’s heart started to race. She knew the rhythm of this conversation. Knew how it ended.

DREW STARKEY

The call came in just after dusk—female, late fifties, fall down stairs, conscious but disoriented. Anna Laurent barely had time to finish her coffee before the ambulance doors slammed shut and the siren cut through the evening air. She sat in the back with two colleagues, already pulling on gloves, her mind switching into that familiar, focused rhythm. By the time they arrived, the front door was wide open. A man was pacing just inside, running a hand through his hair over and over again. He looked like he hadn’t slept, like he didn’t know where to put his energy. When he heard the stretcher wheels hit the floor, he turned sharply. For a split second, Anna recognized him—Drew Starkey. The face was hard to miss, even without cameras or lighting. But the recognition passed as quickly as it came. Right now, he wasn’t a celebrity. He was just someone scared out of his mind. “Please—she’s in here,” he said, voice tight, leading them toward the stairs. Anna followed without hesitation. At the bottom of the staircase lay a woman, propped slightly on her side, breathing but clearly shaken. One shoe had come off, and her hand was pressed weakly against her hip. Anna dropped to her knees beside her. “Hi, ma’am, my name’s Anna. I’m a nurse, okay? We’re going to take care of you.” Her voice was calm, steady—the kind that anchored people in chaos. “Can you tell me your name?” The woman blinked, wincing. “Margaret… I think I slipped…” “That’s okay, Margaret. You’re doing great.” Anna gently checked her pupils with a small light, then glanced at her colleagues as they began assessing her vitals. “Do you know where you are right now?” “At home…” “Good. And do you know what day it is?” There was a pause. “Wednesday?” Anna nodded slightly. “Perfect. You’re doing really well.” Behind her, she could feel Drew hovering—close enough to step in, but holding himself back, like he was afraid of getting in the way. “What—what happened? Is she okay?” he asked, voice unsteady. Anna turned her head just enough to meet his eyes briefly. “We’re checking her over now,” she said, calm but direct. “She’s conscious, which is good. I’m going to ask her a few more questions, alright?” He nodded quickly, swallowing hard. Anna turned back to Margaret, her tone softening again. “Margaret, can you tell me where it hurts the most?” “My hip… and my head a little…” “Okay. Try not to move for me, alright? We’re going to help you onto the stretcher soon.” As Anna carefully examined her, checking for tenderness and possible fractures, she spoke in that same reassuring cadence—steady, grounded, unshakable. Drew watched everything. The way she moved with precision but gentleness. The way her voice never wavered. The way his mother, who had been panicking just moments ago, seemed calmer now—like Anna had somehow dialed down the fear in the room. It struck him harder than he expected. “Alright,” Anna said after a moment, glancing at her team. “Let’s get her stabilized and ready to move.” They worked together smoothly, lifting Margaret with practiced coordination onto the stretcher. She winced, gripping Anna’s arm briefly. “You’re okay,” Anna murmured. “We’ve got you.” As they secured her, Drew stepped closer. “Can I—can I come with you?” he asked. “Of course,” Anna replied, already moving toward the door as they wheeled Margaret out. “You can ride up front.” He nodded, then hesitated for just a second before looking back at her. “Thank you,” he said, quieter this time. Anna met his gaze again, just for a moment. “It’s my job,” she said simply—but there was a small warmth in her expression. Then she turned, pushing the stretcher into the ambulance as the night swallowed them back up, sirens ready to cut through the silence once more.

Theodore Nott

*you and Theo were dating for a while.you two were sitting in the slytherin common room, Jasmine was an death eather but she never told you, Once you two were sitting in the common room you could soo a piece of the mark*

DREW STARKEY

May felt too short. For most seniors at Westbrook High, the last month before graduation meant skipping classes, signing yearbooks, and planning summer trips. But for Anastasia Laurent, May meant a countdown. Not to graduation.To a dream. Ana was eighteen, stubbornly romantic, and completely — hopelessly — fascinated by Drew Starkey. The actor was thirty, charming in interviews, sarcastic in the roles he played, and somehow felt more real to her than most people she knew. Her friends called it a crush. Ana knew it was more complicated than that. It wasn’t just admiration. It was the strange feeling that if she ever met him… something would change. Her graduation date was circled in red on the calendar above her desk.June 14. Underneath it she had written in messy handwriting: Meet Drew Starkey before this day. Ridiculous? Maybe. But Ana had always been the type to chase impossible things. The convention hall buzzed with voices and camera flashes. Ana’s heart pounded so loudly she was convinced the people around her could hear it. “You’re actually shaking,” her friend Lila whispered. “I know.” “You realize he’s thirty.” Ana glanced at her. “I’m aware.” “And famous.” “Still aware.” “And completely out of your league.” Ana smiled faintly. “I didn’t come here to date him. I just… wanted to meet him once.” That was the truth. At least… mostly. When Drew Starkey walked onto the stage, the crowd erupted into cheers. Ana forgot how to breathe. He looked taller in person. Softer somehow. His smile wasn’t the polished one from interviews — it was relaxed, real. The panel passed in a blur. Then came the meet-and-greet line. Ana’s stomach twisted as the line shortened. Ten people.Five.Three. Then suddenly she was standing in front of him. Drew looked up from signing a poster For a moment his expression shifted slightly — curiosity replacing the automatic fan-meet smile. “Hey,” he said. Ana’s voice came out smaller than she expected. “Hi.” She handed him the small notebook she carried everywhere. “I just wanted to say… meeting you was kind of my goal before graduation.” Drew paused mid-signature. “Graduation?” “Yeah. Next month.” “How old are you?” “Eighteen.” Something in his expression softened — not dismissive, just thoughtful. “Congratulations,” he said gently. Ana smiled nervously. “I know it sounds stupid.” “It doesn’t,” Drew replied. Their eyes met for a second longer than either of them expected. Then the staff member nudged the line forward. Ana stepped away. And that should have been it. A brief moment. A signed notebook. A story to tell. Except Drew found himself watching her walk away. He didn’t usually notice individual fans in crowds like this. After years of conventions they blurred together — quick smiles, photos, signatures. But something about the girl with the notebook lingered. Maybe it was the way she looked at him. Not like a celebrity. Like a person she had quietly believed in for a long time. -

Rafe x JJ

Oh no, drama at the bonfire

Theodore Nott

*you and Theo have been chatting for a while now. You two never saw each other in real life because of the distance*

Theodore Nott

*you and Theo were childhood friends. Aurora moved to another place so you two didn't saw eachother for 3 years*

Niccolo Govender

*You were niccolos ex, everytime you two guys saw eachother you gave a death stare. Well you hate Theo and Theo hates you everytime he sees you he tries not to hit you*

Rafe Cameron

The Grace estate was glowing that night—golden lights wrapped around marble pillars, music pulsing softly through the air, laughter spilling from every corner. It was one of those parties. The kind where money didn’t whisper—it spoke fluently. Aaliyah Grace stood near the edge of the crowd beside her brother Alex, one arm loosely linked with his. Being the youngest of the Grace family came with expectations, but tonight she wore them easily. Aaliyah looked effortlessly dangerous—soft silk dress, bare shoulders, confidence in her posture without even trying. Alex looked just as lethal in a tailored suit, watching the room like he owned it. Sam, the other twin, had disappeared to the bathroom five minutes ago. Typical. Their father, Damian Grace, was across the room laughing with his longtime friend, Ward Cameron. Business partners. Old money. Power stacked on power. The Grace kids, however, had never met the Camerons. Not properly. Aaliyah’s gaze drifted—curious, observant—until it stopped. Him. Across the room stood Rafe Cameron. He wasn’t trying to be the center of attention. That’s what made it worse. He leaned casually against the bar, beer in hand, black suit jacket loosened just enough to look dangerous. His jaw was sharp, his expression unreadable—but not arrogant. Not loud. Just… intense. He was talking quietly with Topper Thornton, nodding occasionally, eyes scanning the room like he was already bored of everyone in it. And then his eyes landed on her. Aaliyah felt it first—the pause in her chest. The subtle shift in the air. Rafe didn’t stare. He simply looked, like he was registering something important. Like she was something that didn’t belong to the background. Alex noticed immediately. “Don’t,” he muttered under his breath, following her line of sight. “Relax,” Aaliyah replied softly, lips curving. “I’m just looking.” But Rafe was already pushing off the bar. Each step toward her felt intentional, controlled. When he stopped in front of her, the noise of the party seemed to dull. “Hey,” he said, voice low, steady. “I don’t think we’ve met.” Aaliyah met his gaze without hesitation. “Guess not.” A corner of his mouth twitched—not a smile. Something more dangerous. “I’m Rafe.” “I know.” That finally earned a grin. Alex cleared his throat, stepping closer, but Rafe didn’t break eye contact with her. Not even for a second. “Dance?” Rafe asked, nodding toward the music, like he already knew the answer. Aaliyah glanced once at Alex—then back at Rafe. “Sure.” And just like that, the night shifted. Some stories don’t start with chaos. Some start with recognition.

DREW STARKEY

Anna Laurent sat on the edge of her bed, fingers twisting the hem of her sweater until the fabric stretched thin. The house felt smaller than usual—like the walls had leaned in to listen to everything that had just happened downstairs. Her mom knew. Not just about Drew… but about his age. Twenty-seven. Five years didn’t seem like much to Anna when she was with him—when he laughed softly into her hair, or when he listened like every word she said mattered. But downstairs, in the harsh light of the kitchen, it had sounded different. Bigger. Wrong. “Twenty-seven, Anna?” her mother had repeated, arms crossed tightly. “He’s a grown man. You’re still living under my roof.” Anna had tried to explain. That Drew wasn’t like that. That he didn’t pressure her, didn’t rush anything, didn’t treat her like she was younger. If anything, he was the only one who didn’t. But it hadn’t mattered. “I don’t want you seeing him anymore,” her mom had said, firm and final. The words still echoed. Anna blinked quickly, grabbing her phone from the bed. Her thumb hovered over Drew’s name for a moment before she pressed call. He picked up almost immediately. “Hey,” he said, his voice warm, steady—the exact opposite of the storm she felt inside. “Everything okay?” Anna swallowed, but her voice still cracked. “I told her.” There was a pause on the other end. Not surprised—just bracing. “…About me?” “About us. And your age.” Another pause. Longer this time. “Okay,” Drew said quietly. “How bad?” Anna let out a shaky breath. “She hates it. She thinks it’s weird, that you’re too old, that I’m—” She stopped, biting her lip. “She doesn’t want me to see you anymore.” Silence. Not empty silence—thinking silence. When Drew finally spoke, his voice was softer. Careful. “And what do you want?” Anna squeezed her eyes shut. “I want you.” The words came out before she could second-guess them. There was a faint exhale on his end, like he’d been holding his breath. “Hey,” he murmured. “Look at me—well… you know what I mean.” A small, broken laugh escaped her. “I’m not going anywhere,” he continued. “But I don’t want to make things harder for you at home either.” “She already made it hard,” Anna said, frustration slipping through. “It’s not fair. She doesn’t even know you.” “I get why she’s worried,” Drew replied. “If I had a daughter—” “But I’m not a daughter, I’m me,” Anna cut in. “And I chose you.” That hit something. She could tell by the way his breathing changed slightly. “…My parents weren’t thrilled either,” Drew admitted after a moment. “They think I should be with someone ‘more settled’ or whatever that means. But they didn’t try to stop me.” Anna sat up straighter. “So what are we supposed to do?” Another pause. Then, steady and certain: “We take it one step at a time.” She frowned slightly. “That sounds like a non-answer.” He chuckled softly. “It means I’m not walking away just because it’s complicated. It means we don’t blow everything up overnight either.” Anna leaned back against her pillows, staring at the ceiling. “I hate that she gets a say,” she whispered. “She gets a say because she loves you,” Drew said gently. “Even if she’s… going about it badly.” Anna didn’t respond. Because she knew he was right. But it didn’t make it hurt less. “…Can I see you?” she asked after a moment, quieter now. Drew hesitated this time. And that scared her more than anything. “I want to,” he said. “You know I do. I just don’t want you getting in trouble because of me.” “You’re not ‘trouble,’” she said immediately. “Your mom might disagree.” Anna sat up again, determination flickering in her chest. “Then let her.” Silence again. Then a soft, almost reluctant smile in his voice: “You’re stubborn.” “Only for you.” That made him laugh, low and real. “…Tomorrow,” he said finally. “We’ll figure something out. Somewhere simple. No sneaking around like we’re doing something wrong.”

Rafe Cameron

The music was loud enough to make the pool water vibrate. Bass thumped through the massive backyard, red cups everywhere, people shouting over the music as the afternoon sun burned down on Figure Eight. It was the kind of party only Kooks threw. And today it was at Topper Thornton’s house. The backyard was packed. Girls in bikinis, guys diving into the pool, someone already half-drunk yelling by the grill. Anastasia Laurent—Ana to her friends—sat on the edge of the crowded pool, her legs dangling in the cool water. Her blonde hair was pulled loosely over one shoulder, the ends brushing her waist. Sunlight caught in the strands, making it almost glow. Blue eyes scanned the yard impatiently. She was looking for her boyfriend. Topper had disappeared twenty minutes ago with the vague promise of “getting more drinks.” Typical. Ana pushed her sunglasses up on her head and leaned back on her hands, scanning the party again. That’s when she saw him. Across the pool. Talking to someone near the outdoor bar. Even in a crowd of loud Kooks and half-naked partygoers, he stood out. Tall. Broad shoulders. His shirt lazily thrown over one shoulder like he hadn’t bothered putting it back on after swimming. A backwards cap sat on his head, but brown bangs still slipped out the front, brushing across his forehead. His posture alone gave him away. Confident. Lazy. Like he owned the place without even trying. Ana’s eyes narrowed slightly. That has to be him. Because there was only one person everyone on Figure Eight talked about like that. The Kook Prince. Rafe Cameron. Ana had heard plenty about him. Mostly from Topper. “Rafe’s crazy, but he’s loyal.” “Rafe doesn’t like new people.” “Rafe does what he wants.” She had been on the island long enough to hear the stories. Fights. Drinking. Parties that got out of control. But somehow people still followed him. Still respected him. Still moved out of his way. And now he was here. Ana watched him without realizing it. Rafe was leaning against the counter, talking to another guy, one hand loosely holding a beer bottle. He laughed at something, tilting his head back slightly. The movement made the sun catch the sharp line of his jaw. There was something careless about him. Dangerous, maybe. Like he never really worried about consequences. Ana tilted her head slightly, studying him. That’s Rafe Cameron. He looked exactly like the rumors made him sound. Confident to the point of arrogance. Comfortable in chaos. Untouchable. Across the yard, Rafe wiped water from the back of his neck with the shirt hanging over his shoulder. He said something to the guy next to him, then glanced briefly across the party. For a second his eyes scanned the pool. Ana looked away immediately, pretending to watch someone dive into the water. Her heart beat a little faster for no real reason. He hadn’t even seen her. Or if he had, he hadn’t noticed. She looked back again. Rafe was still talking, running a hand through the hair sticking out from under his cap. He looked relaxed. Like this was just another day. Like the entire party revolved around him without him needing to try. Ana dipped her toes deeper into the water, the cool pool splashing slightly against her calves. So that’s Rafe Cameron. The guy everyone warned her about. The guy Topper constantly talked about. The guy she had somehow never met despite living on the same island. Across the yard, Rafe laughed again at something his friend said. Still completely unaware that someone new had just arrived in his orbit. Ana watched him for another moment before looking back across the crowd for Topper. But for some reason… Her eyes kept drifting back to the tall guy by the bar. And Rafe Cameron still hadn’t noticed her.

Rafe Cameron

The party was already loud when Aaliyah Grace arrived—music pounding through hidden speakers, laughter echoing off the water, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder in the glowing blue pool. The kind of night that felt reckless before anything even went wrong. She sat on the edge of the pool, palms pressed to the warm concrete, her legs dangling in the water. Droplets clung to her skin, reflecting the string lights overhead. People splashed around her, shouting over the music, but Aaliyah felt strangely still—like she was waiting for something without knowing what. She’d never met Rafe Cameron. She didn’t need an introduction to recognize him. Her eyes drifted across the crowd, and then they stopped. Rafe stood just outside the pool, talking to Topper like the rest of the party didn’t exist. Topper looked relaxed, smiling, fully in his element. Rafe didn’t. His shirt was slung lazily over one shoulder, chest still damp, a backward cap shadowing his eyes. He swayed slightly where he stood, jaw tense, gaze unfocused. He looked high. And dangerous in that effortless way that made people stare before they realized they were staring. Aaliyah watched him longer than she meant to. He didn’t notice her—not the way he was standing, attention fractured, listening to Topper with half a grin that came and went like static. He laughed at something, sharp and sudden, then rubbed his face with his hand like he was trying to wake himself up. She felt a flicker of nerves, the kind that buzzed low in her chest. Someone splashed near her, water sloshing up onto her thighs, and she shifted, tucking one leg closer. That’s when Rafe’s head tilted—like he’d heard something beneath the noise. His eyes lifted, scanning the pool, unfocused at first. Then they landed on her. The look wasn’t dramatic. No slow burn. Just a pause. His gaze sharpened slightly, curiosity breaking through the haze. For a split second, the chaos around them blurred—music, shouting, movement—all of it faded under the weight of being noticed. Aaliyah held his eyes without meaning to. Rafe didn’t smile. He didn’t look away either. Something unreadable crossed his face, something darker than interest but not quite disinterest. Then Topper clapped him on the shoulder, saying something she couldn’t hear, and the moment snapped. Rafe looked away. But the feeling didn’t. Aaliyah exhaled slowly, heart beating harder than it should have for a stranger. She told herself it was nothing—just a party, just a glance, just another Kook night spiraling toward morning. Still, she couldn’t shake the sense that whatever had just passed between them wasn’t accidental. And Rafe Cameron, high or not, had already noticed her.

RAFE CAMERON

The bar was packed. Music pounded through the walls so loudly it felt like the floor itself was vibrating. Neon lights flashed across the crowd in messy waves of purple and red, and people laughed too loudly over drinks that kept getting stronger. Normally Anastasia Laurent liked bars like this. Normally. But tonight everything felt wrong. Her fingers tightened around her glass as she stood near the counter, barely listening to the conversation happening around her. Her friends were talking about something—someone’s trip, someone’s job—but the words blurred together into meaningless noise. Because she had just seen him. Across the room. Her ex. He stood near the pool tables, laughing with a group of guys like nothing had ever happened. Like he had never grabbed her wrist so tight it left bruises. Like he had never raised his voice until she felt small enough to disappear. Like he hadn’t made her afraid. Anastasia’s chest tightened. No. Her heart began beating faster, her pulse suddenly roaring in her ears. He hadn’t seen her yet. But he might. Her breathing started to come quicker, shorter. The air in the bar suddenly felt thick, like there wasn’t enough of it. Her fingers trembled around the glass before she set it down quickly. “I— I need a second,” she muttered to no one in particular. Her friends barely heard her over the music. Anastasia turned and pushed through the crowd, trying to ignore the way her vision started to blur around the edges. Shoulders bumped into hers as she hurried toward the hallway leading to the bathrooms. Her lungs burned. Why couldn’t she breathe? She shoved open the first door she saw and stumbled inside, closing it quickly behind her. The quiet hit her instantly. The music outside was muffled now, just a dull thumping through the walls. Anastasia leaned against the door, sliding down slightly as her hands came up to press against her chest. “Breathe… breathe… breathe…” But the panic was already there. Her breaths came out uneven and sharp, each inhale feeling too small. Her fingers shook as she pushed away from the door and moved toward the sink. Cold water. Maybe that would help. She gripped the edge of the sink and stared down, trying to steady herself. That was when her brain slowly registered something. The room felt… wrong. She looked up. The mirror reflected the entire bathroom behind her. And the row of urinals along the wall. Anastasia froze. “…Oh my god.” She had walked into the men’s bathroom. Before she could move, the door behind her opened. Someone stepped in. The sound of boots against the tile floor echoed in the quiet room. Anastasia turned quickly, panic flashing across her face. Rafe Cameron stopped the moment he saw her. For a second, neither of them spoke. Rafe’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, confusion crossing his face as he took in the sight in front of him. A girl. Standing in the men’s bathroom. Breathing like she had just run a mile. Her hands gripped the sink tightly, knuckles pale. Her hair was slightly messy like she had been running her hands through it, and her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. Then recognition flickered across his expression. “…Laurent?” His voice cut through the quiet. Anastasia blinked at him. Of course she recognized him. Rafe Cameron. Even after all these years, he looked almost exactly the same—tall, broad-shouldered, messy blond hair, blue eyes that always seemed a little too intense. Back in high school he had been impossible not to notice. Not that they had ever really talked. They had circled the same social group for years. Same parties. Same beach bonfires. Same late-night hangouts. But somehow their friendship had never crossed paths. He had been older. Louder. Closer with the main group. And she had always been on the edges of it. Two years younger. Two completely different orbits. They had probably exchanged a handful of sentences in their entire lives.

RAFE CAMERON

The boat cut hard across the dark water, engine snarling, spray hitting like cold needles. You sat on the deck where Ward had left you—wrists bound tight behind your back, rope biting into your skin, ankles tied just enough to make every shift awkward and slow. The salt air stung your throat, but it was nothing compared to the tension coiled around you. Ward Cameron stood at the helm, steady, controlled, like this was just another business arrangement. Like you were just another piece on the board. “You know where it is,” he’d said earlier, voice calm, almost patient. “You help us, Anna, and this ends clean.” You hadn’t answered. You wouldn’t. Because you knew exactly what side you were on. And it wasn’t his. Across the deck, Rafe lingered near the railing, restless in that way he always was—like something inside him was constantly clawing to get out. His eyes flicked to you now and then, sharp, unreadable. He hadn’t said much since they brought you aboard. But he was watching. Always watching. The boat lurched suddenly as it hit a swell, the hull slamming down hard enough to rattle your bones. You shifted instinctively, trying to brace yourself—but your balance was already off, your hands useless behind you. Another wave came, bigger this time. The deck tilted. Your shoulder hit first. Then everything slid. There wasn’t even time to shout. One second you were on the boat—the next, the world vanished into black water. The cold hit like a shock straight through your chest. Salt flooded your mouth as you went under, heavy and disoriented, your tied arms dragging you down instead of helping you fight back up. You kicked hard, panicked, trying to find the surface. But without your hands, your movements were clumsy, uneven. Your lungs tightened almost instantly. Above, the engine roared on. No one noticed. Except him. Rafe had seen it—the exact moment you disappeared over the edge. At first, his brain lagged, like it didn’t quite register what had happened. Then it snapped into place. “Hey—!” He stepped forward, scanning the dark water. Nothing. Just waves, endless and shifting. “You—she fell,” he said, sharper now, turning toward the helm. “She’s overboard.” Ward barely glanced back. “We’re not stopping.” Rafe blinked, like he hadn’t heard right. “What?” “She made her choice,” Ward said evenly. “We don’t have time for mistakes.” For a moment, Rafe just stared at him. Something flickered across his face—anger, disbelief, something deeper he couldn’t quite name. Then he looked back at the water. You weren’t there. Or maybe you were—but sinking. His jaw tightened. “Her arms are tied,” he said, voice lower now. “She can’t swim.” Ward didn’t answer. That was it. Rafe exhaled sharply, like he was making a decision he didn’t have time to think through—and before anyone could stop him, he kicked off his shoes and dove. The cold hit him just as hard, but he cut through it, pushing forward with strong, practiced strokes. His eyes scanned the dark water, searching— There. A faint movement below the surface. Slower now. He dove under, grabbing for you, his hand catching your arm just as your body started to sink deeper. You struggled weakly, instinct fighting even as your strength gave out. “Hey—hey, I got you,” he muttered, though the words were half lost to the water. He pulled you up, dragging you toward the surface. You broke through with a choking gasp, coughing hard, barely conscious, your body limp against him. “Stay up,” he snapped, more urgent now, hooking an arm around you to keep your head above water. “Don’t—just breathe, alright? Just breathe.” You couldn’t answer. You could barely stay awake. The boat had slowed now, turning back despite Ward’s earlier refusal. A ladder hit the water with a metallic clang. Rafe hauled you toward it, muscles burning, grip tightening whenever you slipped.

Theodore Nott

*you and Theo used to have sex all night.But Theo broke up with you. Now it's embarrassing when you two have eyecontact, you two hate eachother*

RAFE CAMERON

The bonfire crackled against the dark shoreline, sparks flying into the salty night air as waves crashed in the distance. Music thumped from a speaker half-buried in the sand, and the usual divide was there—Kooks on one side, Pogues on the other—but tonight it all blurred together under cheap beer and reckless energy. Anna Routledge stood near the edge of the light, arms wrapped around herself. Being John B’s sister meant she belonged with the Pogues, but her eyes kept drifting across the fire. To him. Rafe Cameron. Leaning against a cooler, jaw tight, already on edge. He looked like he didn’t belong anywhere tonight. Not with the Kooks. Not without her. Their secret sat heavy between them. She started toward him before she could stop herself. “Rafe—” “Don’t,” he muttered under his breath, not even looking at her. “Not here.” Her chest tightened. “You’ve been ignoring me all night.” “Yeah, well, maybe that’s the point.” Before she could respond, a voice cut through the tension. “Of course it is.” JJ. He stepped forward, eyes sharp, already fired up. “Funny seeing you two anywhere near each other.” Anna froze. Rafe straightened. “Back off, Maybank,” Rafe snapped. JJ laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Nah, man. I’m tired of your crap. You think you can just—what? Walk into our side, act like nothing happened?” Rafe took a step closer. “You don’t know anything.” “I know enough.” The air shifted. People nearby started paying attention, the music suddenly too loud, too distant. Anna moved between them. “JJ, stop—” “Stay out of it, Anna,” JJ said, not taking his eyes off Rafe. Rafe scoffed. “Yeah, listen to your friend.” Something snapped. JJ shoved him. Rafe stumbled back, then lunged forward, grabbing JJ’s shirt. The two crashed into each other, shouting, fists clenched—but before it could turn into a full fight, Rafe suddenly shoved JJ away and turned his back, running a hand through his hair. “God, you’re not even worth it—” It happened in a second. Too fast. A flash of metal in JJ’s hand. Anna’s breath caught. “JJ—!” But it was already done. The knife drove forward. Into Rafe’s back. A sickening sound. A sharp intake of breath. Everything went silent. Rafe froze. JJ’s eyes widened, like he hadn’t fully meant it—or hadn’t thought it through. Anna moved on instinct. She shoved JJ hard, ripping the knife from his hand before he could react. “What did you do?!” she gasped. Rafe staggered, his hand slowly reaching behind him, coming away dark with blood. He turned. And saw her. Standing there. Holding the knife. Time broke. “No—” Anna shook her head, stepping forward. “Rafe, I didn’t—” His expression shifted from confusion… to betrayal. “Anna…?” Voices erupted around them. “What the hell—” “Oh my God—” “Did she just—?” Topper pushed through the crowd, eyes locking onto the scene. He saw everything he needed—or everything he wanted. Anna. Knife in hand. Rafe bleeding. And JJ already backing away into the shadows. Topper’s jaw tightened. “Are you serious right now?” he shouted, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You stabbed him?!” Anna whipped toward him. “No! It wasn’t me—” “I saw you!” he snapped, pointing straight at her. “You were standing right there with the knife!” “That’s not what happened!” But it didn’t matter. People were already pulling back from her like she was dangerous. Like she was the enemy they always believed she could be. Pogue. Traitor. Rafe swayed, barely holding himself up, eyes still locked on her—hurt, confusion, something deeper. Something breaking. “I didn’t…” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Rafe, you have to believe me.” He didn’t answer. And somehow, that hurt more than anything else. The waves kept crashing. The fire kept burning. But everything between them—everything they had—was going up in flames.

Negan smith

on ur knees

Rafe Cameron

Midsummers was never about summer. It was about money. White tents covered the Cameron lawn, fairy lights tangled through oak trees, and the richest families on Figure Eight floated around in linen and diamonds pretending they weren’t sizing each other up. Ward Cameron’s construction empire. Andrew Grace’s realty empire. Old money, new money—everyone pretending it was tradition and not strategy. Aaliyah Grace stood near the terrace railing, fingers curled around a sweating glass of sparkling water. Seventeen and already exhausted by it all. Her father was across the lawn with Ward, laughing like they hadn’t just spent the past month arguing zoning permits. They’d been best friends before she was born. Before Alex was born. Before her mother died bringing her into the world. Andrew Grace never remarried. Never dated. He raised his kids and built an empire instead. Sometimes Aaliyah wondered if that was easier. “You look like you’re planning an escape,” Sarah said, appearing beside her in a pale pink dress. Sixteen, sharp-eyed, and just as unimpressed. “I am,” Aaliyah replied. “There’s a boat docked on the south end.” Sarah snorted. “Tempting.” They’d grown up together—summer barbecues, forced vacations, joint birthday parties. Sarah was the only Cameron Aaliyah actually liked. Across the lawn, Rafe stood with Alex near the bar. Nineteen and twenty. Both in black tuxes. Both pretending they didn’t hate these events. They looked like rivals in a country club war. Rafe leaned against the bar, jaw tight, eyes scanning like he was looking for something to break. Alex stood straighter, calmer, but just as guarded. They’d been circling each other for years—never friends, never enemies, just permanently competitive. Aaliyah followed Rafe’s gaze when it flicked toward her. Their eyes met. Instant tension. They’d never gotten along. Even as kids. Rafe thought she was judgmental. She thought he was reckless and entitled. They didn’t fight loudly—they didn’t need to. It lived in the looks. Rafe excused himself from Alex and walked over. “Grace,” he said flatly. “Cameron.” Sarah looked between them. “You two are exhausting.” “We’re not doing anything,” Aaliyah said. Rafe gave a humorless smile. “You’re judging the entire event.” “I am judging the entire event.” “It’s how things work.” “It’s how rich people pretend they’re saving the island while carving it up.” His jaw ticked. “You’re here.” “Because my father expects me to be.” “And mine doesn’t?” That hit closer than she expected. Before she could answer, Andrew tapped his glass for attention. The crowd quieted. Ward stepped forward beside him, hand clapping Andrew’s shoulder. “We’re proud to announce a joint development along the north marina,” Ward said smoothly. “Grace Realty and Cameron Construction.” Applause rippled. Aaliyah felt her stomach drop. Rafe went still beside her. More shared dinners. More “next generation involvement.” More pressure. Alex joined them again, eyes narrowed slightly. “You heard.” “Yeah,” Rafe muttered. Andrew beckoned his children closer. Ward did the same. “This,” Andrew said warmly, resting a hand on Alex’s shoulder, “is for the future. One day it’ll be yours.” Aaliyah swallowed. The weight of it pressed heavy—inheritance dressed up as opportunity. She never knew her mother. Only stories. Only photographs. Sometimes she felt like half her life had been decided before she could speak. Rafe stared at the marina lights in the distance. “You don’t even want this, do you?” she asked quietly. He glanced at her, surprised by the softness. “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s happening.” Alex crossed his arms. “We’ll be dragged into meetings by next week.” “Already on my calendar,” Rafe replied dryly. Sarah huffed. “Great. Family bonding.” The adults resumed talking investments, laughing like this was simple. Aaliyah looked at her father—strong, respected, relentless. He built everything from nothing after losing his wife. She knew the story by heart. She knew what it cost him.

DREW STARKEY

The ambulance bay doors slammed open so hard they echoed down the entire corridor. “Move! Move! Incoming—male, mid-twenties, unconscious—possible internal hemorrhage!” The sound barely registered at first. Dr. Anna Laurent stood at the nurses’ station, flipping through a chart, her expression composed, focused—the kind of calm that made people trust her instantly. At 24, she was already one of the best. Quick, brilliant, precise. Unshakeable. At least, that’s what everyone thought. The stretcher burst through the doors. Something made her look up. Just a glance. Just curiosity. And then— Her entire world collapsed in a single heartbeat. Her breath caught so violently it hurt. No. No, no, no— “…Drew?” The name came out like it didn’t belong to her. She stepped forward, slower this time, like if she moved too fast it would become real. But it was real. His head lolled slightly with the motion of the stretcher. His skin was too pale. There was blood—too much blood. His lips… they weren’t the color they should be. “Drew.” This time it broke. The chart slipped from her hands and hit the floor, forgotten. Then she was running. “DREW!” Her voice cracked through the hallway, sharp and desperate, cutting through the controlled chaos. She pushed past a nurse, grabbing onto the side of the stretcher as it moved. “That’s my husband!” she said, her words tumbling over each other. “That’s my husband—what happened to him? What happened?!” “Car accident,” someone answered quickly. “Found unconscious—” Anna’s hands were already on him, trembling as they hovered over his face, brushing blood away with shaking fingers. “Drew… hey… hey, baby—” her voice dropped, softer now, terrified. “Can you hear me? Drew, open your eyes.” Nothing. Not even a flicker. “Ma’am, you need to step back—” “I’m not stepping back!” she snapped, her voice breaking as panic surged through her. “I’m a doctor—tell me his vitals!” They kept moving. The trauma room doors swung open. Anna stayed with him. Of course she did. But just as she tried to follow him inside, a hand grabbed her arm, firm. “Anna, no. You can’t. He’s not your patient.” For a second—just one—she froze. Then she looked at them. And whatever they saw in her eyes made the room go quiet. “He is my patient,” she whispered, her voice trembling so badly it barely held together. “He’s my husband.” “Anna, you’re too close—” “Too close?” she repeated, her voice rising, cracking under the weight of something unbearable. “He’s my whole life!” Her chest hitched, breath coming uneven now. “You don’t get to tell me to walk away from him.” They hesitated. And that hesitation was all she needed. She pulled free and rushed inside. The lights were too bright. The monitors too loud. The room too cold. Drew looked so still on that table it didn’t make sense. He was never still. Never quiet. Always laughing, always pulling her out of her own head when she got too lost in work. Now— “BP is dropping—” Anna moved instantly. Instinct took over, but it wasn’t clean, not like usual. Her hands shook as she reached for him, pressing lightly against his chest, checking, assessing, searching for anything that would tell her he was still there. “Get fluids in—now. We need imaging. Check for internal bleeding—” “Anna—” “Don’t,” she choked out, not even looking at them. “Don’t take me off this case.” Her voice broke on the last word. “I can fix this,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “I can fix him.” No one spoke. Her hands hovered over him for half a second before she forced them steady, pressing down, working, doing everything she had been trained to do. Everything she had ever been good at. But this wasn’t just anyone. This was Drew. Her Drew. “Hey…” she whispered, leaning closer, her forehead almost brushing his. “Hey, you don’t get to leave me like this, okay?” Her voice cracked completely now, tears finally spilling over despite how hard she fought them. “You promised me,” she said, breath shaking. “You promised me we’d have more time.”

Rafe Cameron

🍃🍺|| Drunk again

Theodore Nott

*you were the hottest girl in the school. Theo and his other 3 friends made a bet who let's you fall in love with firts. Who wins gets money*

Rafe Cameron

Just a bet

Negan Smith

highschool sweethearts

Rodrick Heffley

Rodrick leaned back in his old rolling chair, drumsticks twirling between his fingers as the sound of static filled the garage. The band, Löded Diper, was in their “creative phase,” which basically meant nobody was doing anything. Bill: “Rodrick, the amp’s fried again.” Rodrick: “Nah, it’s supposed to sound like that. It’s grunge.” Ben: “It smells like smoke.” Rodrick: “That’s the smell of rock, man.” Alia was sitting on the couch—well, the couch-shaped pile of cushions in the corner—scrolling through her phone. Her ripped jeans, band tee, and messy eyeliner matched Rodrick’s look almost exactly. They were like the punk-rock version of those couples who wear matching sweaters. Alia: “You know, if you actually fixed your gear, you might win the talent show this year.” Rodrick: “Win? We’re not in it to win, babe. We’re in it to destroy the competition.” Greg popped his head into the garage, holding a bowl of cereal. Greg: “Mom says turn it down or she’s gonna call the neighbors again.” Rodrick: “Tell Mom it’s called art, and art can’t be contained by suburban noise ordinances.” Greg: “Okay, I’ll tell her that. Then you can tell her yourself when she grounds you.” ⸻ Scene 2 – The Talent Show Plan Rodrick slapped a flyer onto the table. Rodrick: “This is it. The Westmore Middle School Talent Show. Big crowd. Real stage. Maybe even free pizza.” Bill: “Didn’t we get banned last year?” Rodrick: “Technicality. They said ‘don’t come back,’ but they didn’t say never come back.” Alia grinned. “We’ll just change the band name for one night. How about Loaded Paper?” Rodrick: “Genius. They’ll never see it coming.” ⸻ Scene 3 – Practice Makes Chaos For the next week, Rodrick and Alia practically lived in the garage. They worked on their new song: “Mom, It’s Not a Phase.” The lyrics were mostly Rodrick yelling about chores, curfews, and the meaning of freedom while Alia backed him up on guitar. Ben: “I think this one might actually sound… good?” Rodrick: “Don’t say that, man. You’ll jinx it.” Of course, Rodrick’s parents weren’t thrilled. Susan Heffley: “Rodrick, honey, maybe play something nice for the show this year?” Rodrick: “You mean boring?” Frank Heffley: “You mean music.” Rodrick: “Trust me, Dad, this is going to change lives.” Greg (under his breath): “Yeah, mostly ear doctors’ lives.” ⸻ Scene 4 – Talent Show Night The auditorium lights dimmed. The air buzzed with anticipation… or maybe feedback from Löded Diper’s amp. Rodrick adjusted his bandana and looked at Alia. “You ready to make history?” Alia: “Always.” The curtain lifted. The first few notes blasted out, shaking the stage. The crowd gasped — half in awe, half in terror. Susan buried her face in her hands. Frank leaned back and muttered, “At least he’s not on drums in the basement.” By the end, the audience was a mix of cheering kids, horrified parents, and one janitor covering his ears. Greg (to Rowley): “I think my brother just invented new noise.” ⸻ Scene 5 – After the Show The judges didn’t give them a trophy. But Rodrick didn’t care. Back in the garage, he grinned as Alia leaned against his shoulder. Rodrick: “We might not have won… but we rocked.” Alia: “And nobody got electrocuted this time. I’d call that progress.” Bill tossed a half-eaten slice of pizza in the air. “Löded Diper forever?” Everyone raised their hands. Rodrick & Alia (in unison): “Löded Diper forever.” The garage filled with laughter, static, and the faint sound of a drumstick snapping — just another perfect day in the Heffley driveway. ⸻

DREW STARKEY

The morning sun spilled softly through the tall stained-glass windows of the small church, painting the wooden pews in colors of red, gold, and blue. The church smelled faintly of old wood, candle wax, and fresh flowers that had been placed near the altar for the special occasion. Anna Laurent Starkey stood near the front pew, gently adjusting the tiny lace sleeve of her daughter’s white baptism gown. Two-year-old June Laurent Starkey squirmed in her arms, her small patent shoes kicking lightly against Anna’s dress. “Mommy… why dress?” June asked in her soft toddler voice, tugging at the delicate ribbon tied around her waist. Anna laughed quietly, brushing a curl away from June’s forehead. “Because today is a very special day, sweetheart.” Across the aisle, Drew Starkey watched them with the same soft smile he’d had the first day he met Anna five years ago in Los Angeles. Back then she had been a tourist — sunburned, laughing, and completely lost trying to find a café near the beach. Drew had offered to help. Neither of them had expected that a simple conversation would lead to this moment. Now she was his wife. And the little girl in her arms was their whole world. Drew walked over, gently straightening June’s tiny collar. “You look beautiful, Junebug,” he said softly. June beamed at him. “Daddy!” Anna looked at Drew and smiled, the quiet kind of smile that held years of love. Even now, after marriage and sleepless nights with a toddler, nothing about them had lost its warmth. If anything, they loved each other more. The church bells rang once, signaling the ceremony would begin. Guests slowly filled the pews — Anna’s family from Europe, Drew’s family from the States, and a few close friends. Everyone spoke quietly, respectful of the sacred moment. Anna’s parents sat in the front row, clearly emotional. Anna had grown up in a deeply Catholic family. Sunday Mass, Christmas midnight services, prayers before dinner — faith had always been a part of her life. Being baptized herself as a baby, she had always dreamed of sharing that tradition with her own child one day. And now that day had come. The priest, Father Gabriel, stepped forward with a warm smile. “Good morning everyone. Today we gather to welcome June Laurent Starkey into the family of God.” Drew gently took June from Anna’s arms as they walked toward the baptismal font together. June stared curiously at the large marble bowl filled with holy water. “Water,” she whispered, fascinated. Everyone chuckled softly. Father Gabriel began the prayers, speaking about love, faith, and the responsibility of parents to guide their child. Anna listened carefully, her fingers intertwined with Drew’s. When the priest asked, “Do you promise to raise June in the faith and teach her the ways of love and kindness?” Anna answered immediately, her voice steady. “We do.” Drew squeezed her hand. “We do.” The priest smiled. “Then let us welcome her.” He dipped a small silver shell into the holy water. June leaned forward, curious. “Cold?” she asked. Drew laughed quietly. “Maybe a little.” Father Gabriel gently poured the water over June’s head three times. “I baptize you in the name of the Father…” A small splash ran down June’s curls. “…and of the Son…” June blinked in surprise but didn’t cry. “…and of the Holy Spirit.” For a second the church was completely silent. Then June giggled. The entire room filled with soft laughter. “She likes it,” Drew whispered. Anna felt tears gathering in her eyes. Father Gabriel gently touched June’s forehead with holy oil, making the sign of the cross. “You are now part of the Church, little one.” A small candle was lit from the large Easter candle and handed to Drew. “This light represents faith. May it guide June throughout her life.” Drew held the candle carefully while Anna kissed June’s damp curls. “You did so good,” she whispered. June reached for the flame curiously. “Fire!” “Not touch,” Drew said quickly, laughing. When the ceremony ended, the church filled with warm applause.

Rick Grimes

🎤|| a band with Rick Grimes

RAFE CAMERON

Whose blood is that?

DREW STARKEY

Anna Laurent had always believed that clothes were more than fabric—they were identity, mood, power. By the time she was 20, half her savings disappeared into carefully curated wardrobes: structured blazers, silk dresses, shoes that turned sidewalks into runways. Fashion wasn’t a hobby. It was her language. She met Drew Starkey on a rainy afternoon in a small coffee shop tucked between two quiet streets. Anna noticed him immediately—not because he stood out, but because he didn’t. Faded hoodie, worn sneakers, hair slightly messy like he hadn’t even looked in a mirror. To Anna, that was almost offensive. “You know there are better jackets in the world, right?” she’d said, half-teasing, half-serious as she nodded toward his hoodie. Drew just smiled. “And you know not everything needs to be complicated, right?” That should’ve been the end of it. But somehow, it wasn’t. Opposites didn’t just attract—they fascinated. ⸻ Two and a half years ago, everything changed. Anna was 22. Drew was 25. In a hospital room filled with quiet anticipation, Anna held her daughter for the first time. Daniella Laurent Starkey. Tiny, perfect, wrapped in a plain white hospital blanket. And Anna knew. Not just that she loved her—but that she would build a world around her. A beautiful one. “She’s not wearing this,” Anna whispered, gently pinching the corner of the standard-issue blanket. Drew laughed softly. “She was born ten minutes ago.” “And she already deserves better.” ⸻ From that day on, Daniella became Anna’s favorite masterpiece. Tiny designer dresses. Matching bows. Miniature coats softer than clouds. Shoes that clicked softly on the floor even though Daniella could barely walk. Anna spent hours putting together outfits, sometimes changing Daniella twice a day just because “the vibe shifted.” Their apartment slowly transformed—half closet, half home. Drew, now 27, would watch from the couch in his usual rotation of hoodies and jeans, holding Daniella while Anna evaluated options like a stylist before a runway show. “She’s two, Anna,” he’d say. “She has standards,” Anna would reply without hesitation. ⸻ At 24, Anna hadn’t changed—if anything, she’d become more herself. Motherhood didn’t soften her love for fashion; it sharpened it. She wasn’t just dressing herself anymore. She was curating a legacy. But Drew balanced her in ways she didn’t always notice. When Daniella ran through the house in one of her expensive dresses and tripped, it was Drew who scooped her up without caring about wrinkles or stains. When Anna stressed over which outfit Daniella should wear to a simple park visit, Drew would gently say, “Or… she could just be a kid today.” Anna would sigh—but sometimes, just sometimes, she’d give in. ⸻ One afternoon, as sunlight poured through their windows, Daniella waddled toward Anna wearing something unexpected. An oversized hoodie. Drew’s hoodie. It nearly swallowed her whole. Anna blinked. “What… is she wearing?” Drew leaned against the wall, grinning. “She picked it.” Anna crouched down, adjusting the sleeves instinctively—but then she paused. Daniella giggled, spinning clumsily, completely unaware that she wasn’t dressed “perfectly.” And for once… she didn’t need to be. Anna exhaled slowly, a small smile forming. “Okay,” she admitted. “She kind of pulls it off.” Drew laughed. “Told you. Effortless style.” Anna rolled her eyes—but she didn’t change Daniella’s outfit. Not that day. ⸻ Because somewhere between silk dresses and oversized hoodies, Anna Laurent learned something she never expected: Style wasn’t just about perfection. Sometimes, it was about freedom. And Daniella? She had both.

DREW STARKEY

Anna Laurent had long ago learned how to move quietly through the world. Night shifts taught you that—how to soften your footsteps, how to lower your voice, how to exist without disturbing the fragile peace people clung to at 3 a.m. Hospitals ran on hushed urgency at that hour, and Anna carried it home with her like a second skin. The apartment was dark when she slipped inside, the faint glow of the city leaking through the curtains. She kicked off her shoes by the door, rolling her shoulders to ease the stiffness that always came after twelve hours on her feet. Somewhere down the hall, the bedroom door was slightly ajar. Drew was home. She smiled to herself, tired but warmed by the thought. His schedule had been brutal lately—press tours, interviews, endless cameras and questions. Today had been a big one, something he’d been nervous about for days. Anna padded quietly toward the bedroom and pushed the door open just enough to slip inside. The sight made her pause. Drew was sprawled across the bed, fast asleep, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other resting loosely by his side. He was shirtless, the soft lamplight catching the lines of his back, the quiet rise and fall of his breathing. The blanket had slipped low, resting just above his waist, like he’d been too exhausted to pull it up properly. For someone the world saw as polished and put-together, he looked disarmingly human like this—rumpled, worn out, completely unaware of how unguarded he was. Anna closed the door gently behind her. She didn’t turn on the lights. Instead, she moved through the room by memory, changing into her pajamas in the dim glow. The fabric felt soft against her skin, a small comfort after the sterile chill of the hospital. Drew shifted slightly at the faint rustle, but didn’t wake. She slipped into bed beside him, careful not to disturb him, easing under the blanket. The mattress dipped softly, and for a moment she stilled, watching to see if he’d stir. He didn’t—just exhaled deeply, like her presence alone had settled something in him. Anna let out a quiet breath of her own. This—right here—was why they kept things private. No headlines, no speculation, no cameras turning moments like this into something performative. Just the two of them, in the quiet, messy reality of their lives. She reached out, hesitating only for a second before letting her fingers brush lightly over his back, a gentle, absent-minded touch. His skin was warm, grounding. Drew made a soft, sleepy sound, barely coherent, but he shifted closer without opening his eyes, instinctively finding her. “Hey…” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. “Hey,” she whispered back. “You just get in?” “Yeah. Go back to sleep.” He didn’t argue. He never did when he was this tired. Instead, he turned his head slightly toward her, eyes still closed, and reached back until his hand found hers. His fingers curled loosely around it, like he needed to make sure she was really there. Anna smiled in the darkness. She lay there beside him, listening to his breathing even out again, feeling the steady warmth of him, the quiet of the apartment wrapping around them both. Outside, the city kept moving. But in here, at 3 a.m., everything was still.

Rafe Cameron

Topper’s house was already halfway destroyed by the time Aaliyah Grace showed up. Music rattled the windows like the place was breathing too hard, red cups littered the lawn, and somebody had knocked over a patio chair and just… left it. Aaliyah loved it instantly. Chaos felt familiar. Comfortable. She slipped through the crowd like she belonged there, hair a little wild, eyeliner smudged like she’d put it on in a moving car—which, honestly, she probably had. She grabbed a drink from the kitchen counter without asking and took a long sip, scanning the room. That’s when she saw him. Rafe Cameron was standing on the coffee table like it was a stage built just for him. No shirt. Of course. A backward cap pulled low over his forehead, sweat on his skin, grin sharp and reckless as he shouted something unintelligible over the music. People were laughing, cheering, egging him on. He looked like a bad idea with good timing. Aaliyah snorted into her drink. “Wow,” she muttered. “That guy is a problem.” As if summoned by the universe’s love for irony, Rafe hopped down from the table and nearly crashed straight into her. “Whoa—” he steadied himself, hands briefly gripping the counter behind her. Too close. Definitely too close. “Didn’t see you there.” She raised an eyebrow. “Hard to miss the half-naked guy yelling at a lamp.” Rafe blinked. Then laughed—loud, unfiltered, like he wasn’t used to being checked and kind of loved it. “Yeah, well, the lamp had it coming.” She smirked. “Naturally.” Topper appeared at Rafe’s side like a loyal shadow. “Rafe! Dude, don’t break my stuff.” Rafe slung an arm over Topper’s shoulders. “Relax, bro. Builds character.” Topper noticed Aaliyah then. “Oh—hey. You good? You need a drink or something?” She lifted her cup. “Already committing bad decisions.” Rafe looked at her again, really looked this time. “You got a name, Trouble?” “Aaliyah Grace,” she said easily. “And you are…?” He scoffed. “You know who I am.” She tilted her head. “I know who you think you are.” Topper choked on his drink. Rafe stared at her for a second, then broke into a grin that was half-challenge, half-interest. “Okay. I like you.” They ended up on the back porch, the noise muffled but still pulsing through the walls. Rafe leaned against the railing, cap still backward, bottle dangling loosely from his fingers. Aaliyah sat on the steps, legs stretched out, shoes kicked off like she planned on staying awhile. “So,” she said, “you always shirtless, or is this a special occasion?” Rafe shrugged. “Too hot. Shirts are overrated.” Commitment issues?” “ With shirts? Yeah.” She laughed, real and unguarded. He liked that more than he expected. They talked—not deep, not romantic. Just messy stories. Bad choices. Nights that went too far and mornings that started too late. Rafe wasn’t the soft, brooding type. He didn’t wax poetic or flirt sweetly. He teased. He pushed. He told the truth like it didn’t care who it offended. And Aaliyah matched him beat for beat. She called him out when he got arrogant. He smirked when she admitted she liked chaos more than stability. Neither of them pretended to be something they weren’t. At some point, Rafe lit a cigarette and held it out to her. “You smoke?” She took it without hesitation. “Only when things are already a mess.” He watched her inhale, the porch light catching her face. Something twisted in his chest—annoying, unexpected. Topper stuck his head out the door. “Rafe! Cops might roll by.” Rafe rolled his eyes. “They always say that.” Aaliyah stood, brushing off her hands. “Well. This was fun, Shirtless Menace.” He stepped closer, just enough to feel the heat between them. “You leaving already?” “Maybe.” She smiled. “Maybe not.” Rafe tipped his cap slightly, grin crooked. “You gonna give me your number, or am I supposed to steal it dramatically?” She pulled her phone out, typed fast, and shoved it into his chest. “Don’t get sentimental.” He laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” As she walked back into the party, Rafe watched her disappear into the noise. Topper nudged him. “Dude. You’re smiling.”

Rodrick Heffley

Rodrick never thought he’d meet someone like her. Alia wasn’t just any girl — she was the neatest girl he’d ever met. Her clothes always looked like they came straight out of a magazine, her grades were perfect, and she had that kinda scent that made you forget what you were saying mid-sentence. Too bad she was into guys like him (Rodrick tightens a drum head, sweat dripping down his temple.) Ben: “Yo, dude, focus. You keep lookin’ at your phone like she’s gonna text.” Rodrick: “Shut up, man. I’m just… tuning.” (He wasn’t tuning. He was checking to see if Alia saw his story — a blurry video of the band practicing. She hadn’t.) Bill: “That the honor student chick? The one with the perfect hair?” Rodrick: “Yeah. Alia.” (He leans back in his chair, drumsticks twirling between his fingers.) Ben: “She doesn’t seem like your type, bro.” Rodrick: “Yeah, well… maybe my type’s changin’.” [Later That Night – Parking Lot Outside a 7-Eleven] Rodrick found her sitting on the curb, smoke curling up into the orange streetlight. She looked way too perfect to be there, in a place that smelled like burnt coffee and exhaust fumes. Rodrick: “Didn’t think you’d actually show.” Alia: (smiles, exhaling a puff of smoke) “Didn’t think you’d ask.” She handed him a slushie. Cherry. His favorite. Rodrick: “You know, you’re like… the neatest person I’ve ever met.” Alia: “Neat?” (laughs) “That’s one way to say boring.” Rodrick: “Nah. You’re like… the only person I know who’s got it all together.” (She tilted her head, eyes sharp but soft.) Alia: “I don’t, actually. My parents think I’m perfect. My teachers think I’m perfect. My little sister thinks I can fix everything. But—” (she took another drag) “—the truth is, I like things that don’t make sense. Like bands that play in garages. And guys who don’t always have it together.” Rodrick: (grinning) “Guess that’s my cue.” They sat there for hours. Talking about nothing and everything. Rodrick told her about Greg being a pain, about Manny drawing on his drum kit, about Loded Diper maybe getting a real gig. Alia told him about her sister — how she’d do anything to protect her. When she laughed, it wasn’t the kind of laugh you hear in the hallways. It was real. And for once, Rodrick thought maybe, just maybe, the neatest girl he’d ever met wasn’t perfect after all — and that was what made her perfect.