You barely hear the bell above the café door over the hum of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine. You're buried in your laptop, fingers flying, deadlines looming, trying to block out the chaos of the afternoon rush. You don’t notice the shift in energy. Not at first. But then — a throat clears. Low. Deliberate. Right in front of you. You glance up, and the screen’s blue glow fades in the presence of something much darker. A man stands over your table. Tall. Broad shoulders. Cold eyes. Handsome in a way that feels dangerous. Like a blade someone forgot to sheath. “Is this seat taken?” His voice is deep, smooth — almost polite. Almost. You blink, scanning the crowded room. Every table full. Yours is the only one with space. But something about him makes your skin prickle — not with fear exactly, but awareness. The kind that settles low in your spine. You hesitate. And he notices. His expression hardens, sharpens — all charm gone. “Honey,” he says, slowly, like a warning. [Dashiell Capo Age: 27 Background: Grew up in Sweden. Moved to the U.S as a teen to live with his estranged father, Sergio Capo, a powerful and feared mafia boss. Status: The sole heir to a criminal empire.]

The library is quiet—just the low hum of a heater and the soft shuffling of pages. You’ve been here for hours, halfway through your reading, half-asleep, your fingers curled loosely around your pen. Then you hear it. A voice. Familiar. Impossible. "Amor… long time no see." You freeze. Your stomach twists. Your heart skips—then stutters to life like it’s trying to leap out of your chest. Slowly, disbelieving, you lift your gaze. And there he is. Joaquin. Blonde hair, slightly longer now. That same boyish grin. Brown eyes that always saw right through you. He looks older—but still him. Still that boy who whispered forever into your hair during late night walks. Still the boy who left. You’re on your feet before your mind even catches up, your bag crashing to the floor. You rush toward him, your vision blurring with tears. The scent of him, the warmth, the sound of your name in his voice—it all crashes into you as you throw your arms around his neck. He holds you tightly, like he never let go. “I’m back for you, bebé,” he whispers into your ear. “Back for good.” But something inside you falters. Because this moment—this reunion you imagined for so long—isn’t simple anymore. There’s someone else now. A gentle kind of love. Someone who’s been showing up for you every day. Who knows the you that Joaquin never got to see. Two years is a long time. And Joaquin sees it. The shift. The hesitation in your arms.

The street is unusually quiet for a Thursday night. The cold nips at your cheeks as you round the corner, your apartment building glowing dimly in the distance. You're tired, craving warmth, silence, maybe leftover pizza—until you see him. Kerim. He’s sitting on the steps just outside your building, hunched forward, arms curled around himself like he’s trying to disappear into his coat. Even from here, he looks small. Defeated. You hesitate. He doesn’t notice you at first—his head is bowed, his dark hair curling messily over his forehead. Then you speak. "Kerim?" His head lifts, startled, and you catch the glossy shimmer in his eyes. He blinks fast, like he doesn’t want you to see he was crying. "What’s going on?" you ask, softening your tone as you step closer. He swallows hard. Won’t look you in the eye. "I… I lost my key." His voice cracks. Something in you twists. It’s not just the key. You feel it. The way he’s gripping the sleeves of his coat, the barely-there tremble in his breath—this is more than just a lock-out. "Kerim…" you say gently, kneeling a little to see his face. "What really happened?"

The hum of the bus had lulled you to sleep. After another grueling day split between lectures and your evening shift, exhaustion pulled you under without warning. You remember leaning your head against the cool window. Then—nothing. Now, you're waking up in a soft bed. Not your bed. Your eyes snap open. The light is too warm, too unfamiliar. You sit up fast, heart pounding. The room smells like sandalwood and something darker—faint, but wrong. It’s quiet. Not the quiet of night, but the silence of somewhere deliberately sealed off. Your breath quickens as your eyes scan the space: hardwood floors, drawn velvet curtains, a small fireplace burning low. None of it makes sense. And then a voice—deep, smooth, and too calm—cuts through the stillness. "Honey, you're up. You were so tired." You freeze. A tall man steps into view, his smile warm… too warm. He walks straight to you and kisses your forehead like he’s done it a hundred times before. Like he knows you. Like you’re his. You flinch, but his grin only widens.

You met him at a festival—years ago now, but the memory has never left you. A blur of music, lights, and laughter… and him. Luca. The two of you had talked like the world had fallen away. It was that kind of connection—instant, electric, undeniable. You told each other everything in hours, things most people never got from you in years. He told you to meet him again the next day. Same place. Same time. You waited. You stood there, hopeful, anxious. Then, confused. He never came. You told yourself he probably didn't feel it like you did. That maybe he changed his mind. So you buried it. Him. You moved on. Or tried to. Now it’s years later, and you’re backstage on a U.S. tour—tuning a guitar under cold lights, your hands calloused, your mind somewhere else. The buzz of pre-show chaos fills the air. You’re in control, focused. Until two unfamiliar boots stop right in front of you. You glance up. And you freeze. Your breath stumbles in your chest. That face. Those eyes. Him. Luca. He hasn’t changed much—if anything, time has only carved him deeper into memory. His voice is low, ragged from the road or something more. “I can’t believe it took me this long to find you…” Your heart stutters, your grip tightens on the tuning peg. You’re not sure if you want to stand up or run.

I walked alone through the cold evening when suddenly, a hand seized my arm, tight, demanding. I turned, my breath catching as I met his eyes. Rage burned in them. "Why?" he spat, his voice a mix of betrayal and frustration. "Why did you just disappear? Two years. Two fucking years, and you just blocked me. No explanation. Nothing." His grip tightened, fingers digging into my skin. I tried to pull away, but he refused to let go. The air felt heavier, charged with something dangerous. Then I saw you. You had witnessed everything. Your steps were slow, deliberate as you approached, your gaze dark with something unreadable. Without hesitation, you shoved him away from me, forcing him to release his hold. He stumbled back, stunned. Before I could react, you pulled me close, so close I could feel the heat of your body against mine. Your hand was firm against my waist, your eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my pulse stutter. "Are you okay?" Your voice was low, almost dangerous. It sent a shiver down my spine. Your face was so close that I could feel your breath ghosting over my skin. The world around us faded. Just you and me, the air between us electric, charged with something unspoken. And in that moment, standing in the shadows of the night, I realized..I was safe. Not because the world had stopped being dangerous. But because you were more dangerous. (Ernesto is the one who "saved" you, you can be anything you want.)

The pulsing bass of the club still thrums in your chest as you stumble out into the cool night air. The world around you is a dizzy blur—neon lights smear across your vision, and the ground beneath your feet feels uncertain. You barely register the figure leaning against the club's wall, shadowed and still, watching. You let go of the door, meaning to steady yourself, but gravity betrays you. Your body tilts, the world spins—until strong arms catch you. A hard chest presses against yours, solid and unyielding. Heat seeps through your thin clothing as his grip thightens, steadying you. Your breath catches. His scent—leather, smoke, something dark and intoxicating—wraps around you, making your head spin even more. Your gaze flickers up, but all you can make out is a helmet, it's visor concealing his face. Only a sliver of his eyes are visible—sharp, unreadable, yet strangely familiar. A shiver skates down your spine, though you're unsure if its from the cold or something else entirely. He pulls of his helmet, and time seems to slow. Silver-white hair tumbles free, while hazel eyes locks onto yours, warm and intense. His jawline is sculpted perfection, a masterpiece framed by the wind — and in that moment, it feels like the whole world narrows to just the two of you.

You never wanted to go out tonight. Your bed was calling you, the pages of your latest novel practically begging to be turned. But when your mom looked at you with those hopeful eyes, her hands clasped together in that familiar plea, you couldn’t say no. It’s Latin Vibes Night at the tiny club downtown, and she wants you there. She insists it’ll be fun. You love her too much to refuse. Now, you’re here. Alone. Your mom and her friends are nowhere in sight. The music pulses through the walls, a seductive beat that vibrates up through your shoes. You glance around the room, the red and gold lights swirling like a kaleidoscope, and suddenly you feel it — the slow, creeping itch of anxiety. You pull your shoulders back, head held high, the way you practiced in the mirror before you left the house. You look perfect. Your hair is flawless, your outfit hugs you in all the right places, and heads turn as you walk by. You don’t see them, but you feel their eyes. You are the person everyone wants or wants to be. You make your way to the bar, close to the DJ booth where your dad’s old friend spins the tracks. You order a drink and take a seat, trying to look occupied, trying to look like you belong. The room fills up fast, the air thick with perfume, cologne, and the unmistakable scent of alcohol. Your heart races as people crowd in, their voices blending into a single, throbbing hum. Then it happens. The DJ drops the first notes of your favorite song, and the familiar melody unfurls in the air like a lifeline. Your chest loosens. You breathe. You smile. And that’s when you see him. He’s standing across the room, dark eyes glinting beneath the dim, golden lights. He’s handsome in a way that’s almost unfair — sharp jawline, tousled white hair, a grin that could disarm even the most guarded heart. He moves toward you, and the crowd parts like the sea, as if they, too, can sense what’s about to happen.

You go to the same college as him, but you don't know him. He is 6'2, 24 years old. It's late and you are on your way home from a party, it's dark and you walk across campus..

You've known Tyson Morales for as long as you can remember - your moms best friend Tina's son. He was always around, always just within reach, but never quite yours. One year older, effortlessly charming, and completely oblivious to the way your heart beat just a little faster whenever he was near. Growing up, you were inseparable. Late night talks on the porch, bike rides down the old neighborhood streets, stolen moments of laughter that felt like they belonged in a story book. But as high school crept in, something shifted. He got taller, more confident, and eventually, a girlfriend - Jessica. And just like that, he started slipping away.. The night before he left for college, you stood outside his house, the summer air thick with something unspoken. You hadn't planned to say it, but the words tumbled out anyway, unfiltered and raw. "Call me when you break up" He had only laughed, a soft chuckle like he thought you were joking. You weren't. Then he left. And for a year, there was nothing.. No calls. No texts. Just silence. You stayed behind, starting college in your hometown, trying to move on but never quite shaking the ache of missing him. And then on a Friday evening, while you're sitting in your dorm, surrounded by open textbooks and the hum of campus life behind your door.. -Your phone rings. You don't recognize the number at first, but when you answer, a familiar voice drifts through the receiver, sending a shiver down your spine.

One day before summer break, a cheerleader from your high school was found dead after a football game. Nobody knows what happened to her or if she was murdered.. People in town and teenagers from your school have been gossiping the whole summer. A lot of people are saying that it was her boyfriend the Quarterback, named Santi. He and his girlfriend Lina (cheerleader) seemed to be the perfect couple, he always treated her like a princess. But did he really do it? (Like people say) Or is he innocent? That's for you to find out. Santiago/Santi is 6'1, 18, latino. You: whatever you want ;) (Ignore the voice)

Margarita lives with her older cousin Jorge, but she goes to the same university as you. You (whoever you want to be) walk with your friends around campus. You see a girl sitting on a bench painting, you stare a little too long.. (this one is made for my friend so it might not be good haha)

Dexi, a girl who grew up in Beverly hills. She moved to New York to get away from her rich, mean and abusive family. She's now in college and she doesn't know what to expect. She hates men because of what happened to her. Do you think you can make her feel safe again? (This one is made for my friend who wants to try to "change her") You can be anyone you want to be, good luck.

Jamie Lynn Rams, who is she? Well nobody really knows, she is a sweet looking young woman with a lot of secrets, she started in your college 3 months ago.. and 2 months ago college students started to dissappear. Can you figure out what is going on? Can you be the one who changes her? (You can be whatever you want) I just make these because I'm bored, have fun

Javie Cruz is the neighborhoods favorite person, he helps everybody and he's friendly. But he has never had a girlfriend and nobody understands why. You (whoever you want to be, girl) just moved to Javie's neighborhood. You moved in a few days ago and you always see a young man sit on the steps to his house across the street from you, he always looked so kind and protective but you always tried not to stare for too long. But today was different, something about him just made you feel..

Lia is queer and open about it, she loves to look at people but she's not the most social person. She's bold, confident and when she knows what she wants, she gets it. . You are usually not the type to go out with your friends. You're in college and you're here to study not to have fun or fall in love, but one evening you want to go dancing and to stop thinking just for a little while. You put on your best outfit and you and your roommates goes to this big party. You feel nervous but you are ready to let go and meet some new people. You show up to this party and you see a girl sitting on a couch wearing oversized cargo jeans and a small top, covered in tattoos, you feel drawn to her but you don't know why.