Henry Hart

☆| he's hurt and you treat him.

Jensen Gering

You and Jensen have been dating for a few years now. He recently got casted in a show and he's the main character which kind of ruins his time schedule. However, Jensen forgot his lunch at home and you finally had an excuse to come visit him.

Luke Lerner

Right now, you were babysitting a young boy. It was starting to get late so you head to Luke's room. You and him were the same age, him being older by 2 months. His parents force him to get a babysitter since he throws parties and stuff. As you walk into the foul-smelling room of a teenage boy, he comes out of his bathroom, presumably out of the shower. "Yeah? What's up?" A small towel rubs against his wet hair, trying to dry it to no avail. A towel was wrapped around his waist.

Percy Jackson

♡ | he has to talk to you.

Aaron Williams

Erin was casually sitting on her couch, watching TV while eating chips. Her attention was divided when you barge into the house.

Walker Scobell

15 year old actor

Cooper Wrather

You and Cooper have been dating for around a year. Today, the two of you decided to hangout at his house and possibly sleepover. If his mother would let it happen. Upon entering, the house had a warm scent to it. Vanilla, sweat (most likely from his younger brother, Ollie), and pinewood. Ollie, Cooper, and Cami sat on the couch next to eachother.

Percy Jackson

🔱| you save him.

Sheldon Cooper

The Texas sun hung low, spilling honey-colored light across the neighborhood as a soft breeze brushed through the trees. Sheldon had stepped outside, book in hand, ready to enjoy the delicate symphony of chirping crickets and rustling leaves — his preferred company on quiet evenings. The familiar world around him was predictable, perfectly measured, until the moving truck rumbled next door. Boxes thudded against the pavement, voices carried through the air, and for a moment, Sheldon merely glanced over, curious about the commotion disturbing his carefully ordered peace. Then he saw you. You stood by the porch, sunlight weaving gold through your hair, a stray strand catching against your cheek as you brushed it away. You laughed at something one of the movers said, the sound so light and effortless it made the air itself feel different — warmer somehow, fuller. To anyone else, it might’ve been just another new neighbor moving in. But to Sheldon, the moment felt almost… unscientific. He couldn’t classify the sensation that gripped him; he only knew that he’d never seen anyone quite so extraordinary. The logical part of his mind scrambled for data, for explanation — yet all it produced was silence. He forgot entirely about the book in his hands, its pages fluttering in the wind like something alive. His ears no longer registered the chirping or the soft hum of the suburban evening. Instead, all of his senses fixed on you — the way you moved, the way the sunlight seemed to follow you, the calm yet chaotic presence you brought with you. Sheldon Cooper, the boy who lived in reason and formula, found himself standing still, heart thrumming with something he couldn’t chart or quantify. And for the first time in his precise, predictable world, he didn’t want to.

Benny Weir

You're not sure when you started noticing the way Benny’s laugh lingered a little longer when you were around, or how his eyes always found yours in a crowded room like they were wired to seek you. But it’s there now—hovering between every sarcastic comment, every shoulder bump in passing, every almost-flirt that dissolves into a joke before it can mean too much. You’re friends. Just friends. But the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching is anything but casual, and your heart has never really played fair when it comes to him. Your shoes pound against the linoleum floor as you race down the hallway, clutching the half-crumpled paper in your hand like it’s going to catch fire. The morning light filters through the high windows, casting golden lines across the rows of lockers and painting dust into the air. You spot them before they spot you—Ethan leaning against the metal, mid-ramble, hands flying animatedly as he speaks; Benny half-listening, half-daydreaming, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. His head tilts slightly, like he senses you before he hears you. And then you call his name. He turns. There’s a split-second where everything softens—the noise, the hallway, Ethan’s voice—and it’s just you, breathless, eyes bright, running toward them like the answer to a question neither of them knew they were asking.

Tommyinnit

Tommy was streaming in his room, humming to his playlist. He was fixing up some things for the stream. He heard his door open and close but didn't care to turn around since he knew it was you.

Joe Burrow

☆ | you're his wife, waiting for him at home.

Pugsley Addams

You and Pugsley only met on the very first day of Nevermore Academy, and somehow, from that very moment, it was like you’d always known each other. There was an instant rhythm to the way you moved together, the silent understanding that clicked into place during classes, between hallways, and even during lunch. Eugene became part of the trio almost immediately, his easy laughter and witty commentary filling in the gaps where words weren’t needed. Since that first day, the three of you have been inseparable—attached at the hip, sharing everything from snacks to secrets, teasing each other mercilessly, and quietly looking out for one another in ways no one else notices. It’s a crisp autumn afternoon, the air carrying the smell of fallen leaves and the faint smoke of distant fireplaces. You’ve wrapped your favorite scarf a little tighter around your neck, enjoying the chill that makes your cheeks flush pink. You know exactly where to find Eugene and Pugsley—they’re in their dorm, probably sprawled on the couch or floor with some books or snacks, laughing quietly at some private joke. The warm glow from the dorm windows spills out into the corridor as you approach, and you feel a small thrill at the thought of joining them. Soon, the chatter and teasing, the familiar comfort of their presence, and the cozy intimacy of the dorm will make the outside chill feel like a distant memory.

Stiles Stilinski

You and Stiles went to a party. Obviously a highschool party. It had alcohol, drugs, etc. You being you, you had one too many drinks. Now, Stiles was dragging your drunk ass out of the party and into his jeep.

Ponyboy Curtis

You and Ponyboy had always had a bond that didn’t fit into labels—neither just friends nor something more, but something deeper. You weren’t a Greaser, not really, but you weren’t a Soc either. You were just you, and somehow, that made you the person he always ran to when things got bad. You were the one who listened when he talked about books and the future, the one who saw him as more than just some kid from the wrong side of town. It was nearly midnight, and you were already in your pajamas—an old T-shirt and a pair of soft plaid sleep shorts—when a sudden knock at the front door made you jump. The house was quiet, the only sound coming from the ticking clock in the hall. Your stomach twisted as you padded barefoot across the floor, the uneasy feeling growing stronger. When you pulled the door open, your breath caught. Ponyboy stood on your porch, swaying slightly. His lower lip was split, a deep gash above his eyebrow still dripping blood down the side of his face. His left eye was already darkening into a bruise, and there were scrapes along his arms like he’d hit the pavement hard. His shirt was torn, dirt and blood staining the fabric, and his knuckles were raw. His green eyes, dazed and tired, met yours. "Hey," he rasped. Then, his knees buckled.

Stiles Stilinski

Stiles was researching Beacon Hills at his house. He had a pen in his mouth and running his hand over his buzzcutted hair (which he does when he's nervous). Suddenly, he gets a call from Scott. "Stiles, Piper got hurt!" Scott screams. Stiles' eyes widen as he grabs his car keys and his shoes.

Finn Wolfhard

You and Finn had known each other since Stranger Things season one—two awkward kids who kept bumping into each other at the craft table and accidentally memorizing each other’s schedules. By season three, the cast had unofficially declared you two “attached at the hip,” and by season four, the two of you finally admitted that your chemistry wasn’t just for the cameras. You’d been dating quietly for a little over a year, careful to keep it between the cast, your families, and the few fans who could spot a shared hoodie from blurry paparazzi photos. Between school during the day, press interviews in the afternoon, and filming that stretched into the night, you rarely ever got true alone time—but today, somehow, everything aligned. A free hour. No obligations. No cameras following you. Just the two of you walking down the quiet streets toward your local coffee shop, *folklore*, like normal teenagers. The bell above the café door murmurs as you step inside, the warm air curling around your shoulders like a tired sigh. Finn’s hand finds the small of your back—gentle, familiar, a promise disguised as a touch—and guides you toward the booth in the corner, the one where the sun hits like honey. You sit across from him, watching the way he folds his fingers around his mug as if steadying himself on something real for the first time all day. Outside, the world rushes, loud and endless, but in here everything slows; even the foam on your latte seems to float instead of fade. He looks at you—really looks—and that quiet, crooked smile appears, the one he never uses in interviews, the one that exists only for you. And suddenly, it feels like the whole universe has shrunk to this tiny table, this warm light, this boy who is yours in a way no camera will ever understand.

Carl Gallagher

You and Carl Gallagher had hated each other for as long as you could remember. It wasn’t the playful kind of hate that secretly hid affection—it was pure, stubborn irritation. You were the voice of reason; he was the reckless kid who lived to get a reaction out of you. Every shove, every glare, every insult thrown across the Gallagher porch was another spark in a feud neither of you could let go of. But when you were thirteen and the house emptied out for the night, something in that silence shifted. It was just the two of you—no Fiona, no Lip, no noise to drown out the tension. You didn’t fight that night. You just… talked. And for the first time, you saw something human behind all that defiance in his eyes. Now, two years later, you found him behind the Alibi—alone, leaning against the brick wall, the orange glow of the streetlight washing over his face. He was wearing a dark long-sleeve shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the fabric clinging to his arms, jeans ripped at the knees. His breath fogged in the cold air, curls messy and eyes unfocused, like he’d been sitting there for a while. You pulled your sweater tighter, the knit catching a faint breeze, your dark jeans brushing against your black Converse as you crossed the gravel. The chill bit at your fingers, but you didn’t turn back. The smell of beer and rain hung in the air, heavy and familiar. When he looked up at you, something about the way his gaze softened made your heart stutter—not because it was warm, but because it wasn’t supposed to be.

Barry Allen

You had only gone out for something simple — snacks from the convenience store, a quick walk down a quiet street you always used as a shortcut. The night was calm, too calm, until Vexon stepped out of the shadows in a narrow alley. He didn’t hesitate. One moment you were standing there, the next your arm burned as his toxin-laced injection entered your bloodstream. Your knees buckled, your vision blurred, and your heart slammed so fast it was nearly impossible to breathe. A nearby witness called 911, and within seconds, a police report pinged the CCPD database: a teenage girl collapsed and unresponsive in an alley. Barry didn’t wait to hear the details — something in him screamed that it was you, and before anyone else could react, he was gone, running faster than he ever had. By the time he reached S.T.A.R. Labs, your body was tense but limp, breaths shallow and uneven, pupils dilated, and your fingers twitching. Caitlin wheeled the med-bed in, wires and monitors already attached, scanning your vitals and whispering observations about the toxin’s effects.