The living room is transformed into a filming space — LED lights glowing purple and blue, soft studio lamps set up in the corners, casting warm light across the room. A camera sits on a tripod facing the coffee table, its red recording light blinking steadily. Another handheld camera rests on the couch, ready for chaotic close‑ups. The coffee table is cluttered with board games, scattered cards, dice, and a bowl of snacks already half‑empty. A mic pack lies beside the pile, wires tangled from someone’s failed attempt to set it up. A second mic is clipped to your hoodie, the cable tucked neatly under the fabric. Jake sits on the floor closest to the camera, legs crossed, leaning forward with restless energy. His mic pack is clipped crookedly to his shirt, the wire sticking out. Corey is curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, mic clipped to the edge of the fabric, already laughing silently at nothing. Sam sits beside the tripod, adjusting settings on the camera, checking angles, making sure everyone is in frame. His posture is focused, calm, professional. Colby leans back in the armchair, one leg crossed over the other, mic clipped perfectly, watching the room with quiet amusement. You sit on the floor beside the coffee table, legs folded, hoodie sleeves long, hair slightly messy from the chaos of setting up. The soft LED glow hits your face, making you look like part of the scene but also the centre of it.

The restaurant glows with warm amber lights, soft reflections shimmering across the polished wooden table. The hum of quiet conversations fills the air, plates clinking, glasses shifting. Your booth sits tucked near the window, the soft evening light brushing across your faces. Roman sits beside you, hoodie sleeves pushed up, posture tight. A subtle discomfort twists in his stomach — not dramatic, just enough to make him shift carefully in his seat. His jaw tightens for a moment, eyes lowering as he tries to steady himself. Under the table, his knee pulls back. Then slowly, subtly, it drifts toward yours. A small, cautious movement. Seeking grounding. Seeking comfort. His leg brushes yours — barely a touch — then stays there, leaning into your space. His shoulder follows, settling closer to you, his body angled your way as he tries to manage the tightness in his stomach. Lexi sees everything. Her posture stiffens across the table, fingers tightening around her glass. Her eyes flick from Roman’s tense expression to the closeness between you two — the way his knee rests against yours, the way his shoulder leans into your side, the way he chooses your space without hesitation. She shifts forward, elbows on the table, trying to reclaim his attention. Her chin lifts. Her eyes sharpen. Roman doesn’t look up. His focus stays on staying composed — slow breaths, small shifts, leaning subtly into you for stability.

The garage is warm from the afternoon sun, the open door letting in a soft breeze that moves the hanging tools slightly. A foldable table sits in the middle of the space, covered in bowls, glue bottles, shaving foam, food colouring, glitter, and paper towels already stained with neon colours. Roman sits on a low stool beside you, hoodie sleeves rolled up, bowl balanced on his knee. His slime is glossy and perfect, swirling like pastel clouds. He pretends to still be mixing, just so he can stay close to you. You sit on the floor, legs crossed, your bowl halfway mixed — soft colours forming, glitter catching the sunlight. Roman’s eyes follow your hands every time you stir. Blake sits on an upside‑down bucket across from you both, his bowl stiff and grey, refusing to move. He pokes it once and it stays exactly where it is. Glitter is stuck to his cheek, his hoodie, and somehow his hair. Lexi stands at the table like a mad scientist, her bowl neon pink and expanding slowly, creeping up the sides like it’s alive. Glitter tubes are scattered around her feet, some open, some tipped over, leaving trails of sparkles across the concrete floor.

*The garden is glowing under soft afternoon sunlight, the grass warm beneath the picnic blanket you all threw down without thinking. Makeup bags are opened everywhere — palettes reflecting the sun, brushes scattered across the blanket, Lexi’s glitter tubes rolling dangerously close to Blake’s trainers. Roman sits cross‑legged in front of you on the blanket, hoodie sleeves pushed up, blonde hair catching the light. He’s calm, steady, watching you choose colours with quiet focus. Every time the breeze moves your hair, his eyes follow it like it’s the most interesting thing in the garden. Blake sits on a foldable chair Lexi dragged outside, already looking stressed. Lexi stands over him like a professional glam artist, holding a brush in one hand and a compact mirror in the other, her ponytail bouncing every time she moves. The ring light you brought outside is plugged into an extension cable that trails across the grass, glowing softly even though the sun is bright. A small speaker plays chaotic British summer tunes, adding to the vibe. Roman leans slightly closer to you, knees almost touching yours, watching your hands as you pick up a brush. Blake leans away from Lexi every time she lifts a product, only for her to pull him right back into place. The garden feels alive — sunlight, laughter, scattered makeup, soft breeze, chaotic energy. Roman’s world is you. Lexi’s world is Blake’s face. Blake’s world is fear.

The house feels warm in the late afternoon, sunlight drifting through the tall windows and settling across the living room. Justin sits on the couch, hoodie loose, scrolling through his phone with that relaxed older‑brother calm. Hailey stands a few feet away, leaning against the counter, eyes fixed on him with quiet obsession — every move he makes, every shift in posture, she watches like she’s memorizing him. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t interrupt, just stays close enough to feel near him. And they're married and hailey hates u so much cause justin and roman care so much about u. You walk in softly, hoodie sleeves covering your hands, moving with that gentle pace Justin always recognizes. He glances up for a moment, giving you a small smile before returning to his screen. Hailey’s eyes flick to you briefly, then snap right back to Justin. Roman enters behind you a moment later — blonde hair slightly messy, blue eyes warm, hoodie half‑zipped, sweatpants hanging low. His gaze moves first to Justin, soft and respectful, the kind of caring younger‑brother look that shows he trusts him. But it doesn’t stay there.

Your husband, Justin, and you have four kids: two older sons and two younger daughters. Your husband and Justin's oldest son is named Xavier, and he's 18. He's quite handsome. He is such a kind and respectful guy and our 2nd son named xander and he is also respectful and sweet and he's 14 and our first duaghter is named is xaxia. She is 10 and she loves make up and we have a newborn called xena and she is so cute and our 2 sons look like me and 2 of the daughters look like justin. bascially xaiver was on the couch chilling with justin while xaxia and xander were baking and xaxa was in her crib sleeping.

Roman moves through the house with that cold, controlled mafia presence — blonde hair pushed back perfectly, blue eyes sharp enough to cut through the quiet. He doesn’t look at you when he enters the room; he never does at first. He just tosses his keys onto the table like he’s annoyed by everything around him, jaw tight, shoulders squared, coat hanging heavy off his frame. His expression is blank, bored, irritated — the same look he gives everyone. Except you. He pretends it’s the same, pretends he doesn’t care, pretends you’re just another person in his space. But his eyes flick toward you for a split second, checking where you are, how you’re sitting, if you’re okay. He looks away immediately, acting like he didn’t. He walks past you without a word, brushing your shoulder on purpose, pretending it was accidental. His blue eyes narrow slightly, like even your breathing annoys him — but he stays close, always close, never far. He stands near the window, arms crossed, acting like he’s thinking about something important, but he keeps glancing at you in the reflection.

Warm sunlight spills across the kitchen tiles when Landon shuffles in, hoodie half‑on, hair sticking up like he fought a tornado in his sleep. He squints at the counter, then at you, then at the toaster like it personally offended him

The hallway is warm and cluttered with soft blankets, pillows, and the half‑opened first‑aid kit you left on the table, sunlight spilling in through the window in long, bright stripes. Landon stands a few steps away, cast held awkwardly against his chest as he edges backward, socks sliding slightly on the wooden floor. His shoulders are tense, cheeks flushed, eyes darting between you and the bottle on the counter like a guilty kid caught doing something he shouldn’t.

The car hums steadily along the motorway, sunlight flickering through the windows in warm, uneven stripes. The backseat is cramped, blankets half‑folded, snack bags rustling with every bump. Landon sits pressed against your side, hoodie pulled up, fingers curling gently into your sleeve whenever the car sways. His face is pale, breathing soft but shaky, each uneven inhale giving away how overwhelmed he feels. He leans into you instinctively, forehead brushing your shoulder as he tries to steady the rolling in his stomach. Alabama sprawls across the other half of the seat, legs everywhere, tapping her foot against the door while scrolling through her phone, occasionally glancing over with a dramatic eye‑roll that doesn’t hide her concern. The air smells faintly of fries and vanilla car freshener, a mix that only makes Landon’s nausea twist tighter. He curls in closer, knees drawn slightly up, hoodie slipping over his face as he tries to block out the motion. You rest a steadying hand on his arm, feeling the tremble running through him, the way he leans into your touch like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. Outside, the motorway blurs by, but inside the car, everything narrows to Landon’s quiet, shaky effort to hold himself together beside the one person he trusts most

The moment the crowd surges toward him, Landon freezes, shoulders tensing as phones lift in every direction. His breath stutters, eyes wide, and before you can even react he slips behind you, gripping the back of your hoodie like he’s trying to disappear into it. Alabama’s still filming the chaos, spinning around with wild eyes, but Landon stays glued to your back, head ducked, chest rising too fast as the group of girls pushes closer. You feel him press in tighter, hiding completely behind you while you pull him forward through the crowd, Alabama scrambling after you, the mall spinning into glitter, strollers, and panic as you drag both of them out of the swarm.

The Jenner living room is glowing with soft Christmas lights, wrapping paper everywhere, everyone half‑awake and laughing as they open gifts. You’re curled on the couch between Landon and Alabama, both of them buzzing with that spoiled‑sibling energy they always get on holidays. Landon’s hair is a mess, Alabama’s already filming everything, and you’re just watching them with that quiet older‑sister smile because you know what’s coming. Kylie hands out the last of the presents, everyone thinking the morning is basically over — until you stand up and pull two small envelopes from your pocket. Landon looks up at you, confused, Alabama pauses her recording, and the whole room goes still in that excited Christmas‑movie way. They open them at the same time. Two keys. Two dream cars. Two siblings frozen in shock. Landon’s mouth drops open, eyes going wide like he can’t even process it. Alabama covers her face with both hands, squealing without making a sound. They both look at you at once — Landon with that overwhelmed, soft look he only ever shows you, Alabama with pure disbelief — and they practically launch themselves at you, wrapping you in the tightest, warmest, most chaotic sibling hug.

Landon stumbles offstage with the lights still buzzing behind him, sweat clinging to his skin as he presses a trembling hand against his ribs where the fan shoved him, the pain sharp enough to make his breath hitch and his shoulders curl inward as he tries to hold himself together. The moment he spots you waiting in the hallway, something inside him breaks loose, all the adrenaline draining out of him at once, leaving him pale and unsteady as he moves toward you with slow, uneven steps. His eyes are glossy, not from the stage lights but from the shock of being hurt by someone who was supposed to be there out of love, and he leans into you without hesitation.

Being best friends with Landon Barker while he dates Charli D’Amelio basically makes you the unofficial third member of their relationship — in the cutest way. Landon drags you everywhere, Charli steals you every time she sees you, and somehow you’ve become the emotional support human for both of them. Charli calls you her pookie, links her arm through yours, and pulls you into every mirror selfie like you’re her soulmate in another life. You two share lip gloss, inside jokes, and the same brain cell on most days. Landon pretends he’s jealous, but he’s the one who introduced you in the first place. You’re the bestie who keeps Landon humble, the pookie who keeps Charli giggling, and the glue holding their chaotic‑cute universe together. When they’re being dramatic, you’re the one rolling your eyes. When they’re being adorable, you’re the one filming it. And when they’re arguing over who gets the aux, you’re the one who takes it

Being Landon Barker’s girlfriend means living in a world of late‑night drives, stolen hoodies, and a boy who pretends he’s unbothered but watches you like you hung the moon. He’ll act all cool in public, but the second you’re alone he’s stealing your rings, fixing your hair, or laying on you like you’re his personal pillow. He’s dramatic, protective, annoyingly pretty, and somehow always in your space — but you don’t complain. He calls you “his peace,” even though he’s the one causing half the chaos. And then there’s Alabama, who decided she loved you the second she saw you. She steals you for makeup sessions, drags you into her TikToks, and tells Landon to “calm down” whenever he gets jealous over literally nothing