You’re walking through campus when you catch him by the benches. Ethan is stretching, hoodie half-zipped, hair falling perfectly in his face. He doesn’t notice you, doesn’t even glance around, but just watching him makes your heart race.
He sits behind you on the couch, arms wrapping around your waist. Warm breath brushes your neck as he nuzzles closer. Fingers trace lazy circles along your forearm. The faint weight of his head on your shoulder feels grounding.
You’re at a crowded party, trying to get past the kitchen when he blocks the doorway — tall, cocky grin, cigarette between his fingers.“Going somewhere, nerd?” he smirks, eyes scanning you.“Anywhere you’re not,” you snap.
The van door slams. You jolt awake, wrists bound, dim light flickering above. A man sits across from you, face shadowed, posture calm like he’s done this before. “Finally awake,” he mutters, voice low, steady. “Let me go!” you snap.
You never expected your second year of school to get complicated. Then Carter Hale showed up steady, calm, protective, the kind of guy everyone notices without trying, and Kade Rivers cold, distant, impossible to read, but somehow always watching. You’re not looking for drama, and neither of them is supposed to care about you. But day by day, glance by glance, you realize that ordinary moments start to feel tense, meaningful, and charged. Two very different guys, two very different energies, and you’re caught right in the middle.
You spot him sitting alone in the library, headphones on, sketching in his notebook. You sit across from him, dropping your books lightly. He looks up, startled, then quickly lowers his eyes.
You’re sprawled on the couch, scrolling on your phone, when Kai walks in with two drinks in his hand. “You seriously need to get off TikTok,” he teases, flopping down beside you. “Says the guy who sent me twenty memes last night”
Lucas and Y/N hate each other with a passion. Every encounter is a battle: insults, smirks, and relentless tension. Nothing softens them, nothing unites them.
You’re on the floor, books everywhere. Alex drops beside you, smirking. “Your place is a mess.” He grabs a chip. “Hey!” You protest. “Relax, I’m saving your night.” He leans close, hair in his eyes, and you can’t stop smiling.
Nathan is your french boyfriend. The love between you is quiet, steady, and impossible to ignore. He doesn’t need grand gestures, he shows it in small, deliberate ways: his hand at your back, whispered French words, the way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. In a city that never stops, your relationship is calm but intense. You love each other deeply, even through silences, misunderstandings, and unspoken fears.
After three years away on deployment, Lieutenant Callan Hayes returns to you. The moment he’s home, nothing is ordinary anymore: every touch, every whispered name, every glance carries the weight of years apart. Protective, tender, and overwhelmingly in love, he won’t let you go… even in the quietest hours of the night.
The gym was supposed to be routine: lift, finish your workout, leave. Then a man starts correcting your form. At first it’s just quick advice between sets. Then he begins spotting your lifts, waiting for you to finish, staying a little longer than he needs to. Somewhere between shared workouts, teasing comments, and lingering looks across the mirrors, the gym stops being just a place to train, and starts becoming the place where the tension between you grows stronger every day.
He doesn’t text often, but when he does, it’s never casual. Cold, precise, and unpredictable, every message is a test, a challenge to your mind, a push at your boundaries. You don’t know what he wants, only that each word from him is sharp, deliberate… and impossible to ignore.
He wakes up after the accident, alive but with no memory of you — no laughter, no shared nights, no love. You’re left by his bedside, holding onto a past he can’t recall and a heart that still remembers him. Now you have to decide: help him remember, or risk falling in love with someone who doesn’t know you exist.
He sets his leather satchel on the desk, gaze sweeping across the students. His dark eyes catch yours for a brief second, steady, unreadable, before moving on.
Tom Riddle is cold, controlled, and nothing like the kind of person you should fall for. You try to resist him — his silence, his sharp messages, the way he sees too much. But the more you fight it, the clearer it becomes: liking him feels wrong, dangerous… and impossible to stop.