Sometimes all you really need is a place to call home. *** Claire is lost and scared and utterly alone. Her family is in shambles after the death of her older sister Ina, and she's left to pick up the broken pieces of herself as her life heads into a downwards spiral of loneliness. Her heart leads her to 5:48, a little cafe by 33rd street, where she finds her new home. With a broken heart and a speech disability, Jasper has his heart and mouth sewn shut by the winding threads of hurt and fear. Painting and serving coffee in cafe 5:48 are one of his last few saving graces, but the smile he's been painting on himself will soon fade away as everything he's ever held dear slips away from his grasp. Ezra is out-of-sync and oddly cold by the way life has treated his young self. Abandoned by his single mother at an early age, he has grown up thinking that he is a mistake. His constant shaking hands are a reflection of what he often thinks of himself, but the delightful pastries he bakes for 5:48's customers are a reflection of what others see of him. Drew is a quirky rarity. He is a dash of loud, a pinch of exuberant, and a cup of eccentric - just like the meals he serves in the cafe as the only chef there. Behind his playful grins and outlandish clothes, however, are his jutting ribs, hollowed cheeks, and too-thin arms. Sometimes he cannot stomach being in his own skin as much as he cannot stomach food. This family has gone a long way from finding each other, and they'll be going a long way together too as reality comes catching up to them, threatening the newfound happiness they've found with each other. Secrets are revealed, pasts become presents, and lives are changed. Slowly but surely, they find their way back home. *** NOTE AS OF 08/2026: This is the old version of the story from 2012, posted in FULL. Another story that will be considered a reprise of this old version is in the works, and will be posted under the name "Hiraya House."

My name's Marcel. Nerd. Poet. Teenage Loser. You think you know the real me, but you don't. I wish you could see the true me, but no one has cared enough to. Until she came. All rights go to _smilelikeniall (myself). Everything is written by me. No copyright intended. Please do not claim my words and/ or ideas as yours. Do not repost my words without giving me credit. Thank you.

Tessa Young is an 18 year old college student with a simple life, excellent grades, and a sweet boyfriend. She always has things planned out ahead of time, until she meets a rude boy named Hardin, with too many tattoos and piercings who shatters her plans.

What happens at camp stays at camp. // est. July 26th, 2014 - #1 in fanfiction [cover by lex]

DISCLAIMER: This story was written in late 2012. I wrote Strings Attached as an adolescent with no idea how a healthy, adult relationship should function. This story is dark and twisted in a way that my teen mind couldn't comprehend at the time. There are more than a few scenes in this book with sensitive content. I--in no way--support rape culture and I do not condone my character's actions. However, as I said, this story was written in an ignorant state of mind. I will not remove this story from Wattpad. It is part of my past and though I am disappointed with the content, it shows how far I've come not just as an author but as a free-thinking adult. Thank you for reading. **Excerpt** "Say... it," She gasped, throwing her head back, cupping my face in her hands so that I was forced to meet her gaze. "You're mine." She held my gaze for a second more, before crushing her lips against my own, arms wrapping tight around my neck, pulling me down to her level. Arms sliding easily around her, she wrapped her legs around me as I lifted her up, lips traveling over her chest and collarbone. She moaned as my hands dug into her tender flesh, pulling on it, their violence a stark contrast to the gentle kisses teasing their way up her neck. Bright lines marked the paths that my nails had etched into her skin, marking her, beautiful red tattoos, spreading out over her entire body. Her small hands knotted in my hair, pulling harder and harder as she fought the urge to cry out...