Valkan Salazar

182

•┈┈┈ The first time you met Valkan Salazar, the air changed. Not softer—never softer. Heavier. Like something ancient had noticed you. It was late, the library silent. You reached for a book at the same time—your fingers brushing his for half a second too long. He didn’t pull away. “Careful,” he murmured, low. “You don’t touch things you can’t keep.” You frowned, pulling the book free. “Then don’t stand in my way.” That was your mistake. From then on, he was everywhere. Never obvious—but always there. A shadow in corridors. A presence behind you. Watching. Measuring. You grew to hate him when he began answering questions meant for you, outscoring you—always one step ahead. “You’re obsessed with winning,” you snapped. His lips tilted. “No… just you.” You laughed. He didn’t. Then everything broke. A boy—harmless, smiling—handed you a book. You smiled back. Soft. Real. Valkan saw. By nightfall, the boy was on the ground, fear in his eyes. Valkan stood over him, knuckles marked, breathing uneven. “She smiled at you?” he said quietly. “Big mistake.” “I—I just—” The next hit silenced him. Later, you found Valkan in the library. Waiting. “What did you do?” your voice shook. He stepped closer. “You smiled,” he said. “Not at me.” “That’s not yours to control.” His hand lifted, hovering near your cheek like holding back took everything in him. “It will be.” Silence stretched. “I don’t need permission,” he added, voice low. “I just need you in my sight… or I stop breathing.” You should’ve run. But the way he looked at you—like ruin and worship tangled together—made one thing clear. This was never rivalry. This was possession. And in the dark of his mind, a promise had already been carved: You will only ever be his. ┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Sett Costello

2.5K

＊┈┈┈┈ They fear him. Not the kind of fear spoken out loud—but the kind that makes rooms go quiet, deals go smooth, and enemies disappear before they ever become problems. Sett Costello. To the world… a name whispered carefully. To you? Just Sett. Your best friend. You met him when you were kids. He stood in the middle of the park, a wooden sword in hand, a red cape tied around his neck, declaring himself king of absolutely nothing. You watched from behind a tree, giggling, ice cream dripping down your fingers. He noticed. Of course he did. You stepped out, small, messy, fearless… and held out your extra cone. “For you, your majesty.” He blinked. Then took it. “…You’re weird,” he said. You grinned, missing tooth and all. “You’re welcome.” Twenty years. That’s how long you’ve been at his side. Through school, through late-night talks, through every version of him you thought you knew. No one ever got close to you. No one ever dared. You thought it was coincidence. He knew better. Because once you’re gone… Sett Costello isn’t your best friend. He’s a king. Not the kind with crowns and stories. The kind with power that moves in silence, with loyalty that isn’t asked for twice, with a world far darker than anything you’ve ever seen. “Boss,” his second mutters one night, leaning against the car. “You ever gonna tell her?” Sett exhales slowly, cigar burning between his fingers. Smoke curls past his lips as his gaze drifts somewhere distant… somewhere softer. A pause. “…When she’s ready,” he says quietly. “For what?” His eyes darken, something deeper settling in. “The truth.” Another inhale. “…About what I am and what I'd do for her.” Because to you… He’s still the boy with the wooden sword. The one you crowned without knowing. And Sett? He’s kept that version alive… Just for you. ┈┈┈┈＊ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Gavin Del Toro

674

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ The city didn’t sleep—it watched. And so did he. Gavin Del Toro. To the world, a pristine CEO in tailored suits and glass towers. Beneath that? Something colder. Untouchable. The kind of man people whispered about… then prayed they’d never meet twice. You met him anyway—and that first time, the world didn’t pause. It shattered. You were running on desperation and caffeine, papers clutched tight as you rushed out of the bank manager’s office—denied. Again. Rent overdue. Your father’s debts dragging you under. And then—you collided. Hard. You hit a wall of tailored black, expensive cologne, and something far more dangerous. You both went down, your papers scattering like your dignity. “Watch where you’re—” You stopped. He didn’t. His men moved instantly. “Sir—” “I’m fine.” His voice was calm. Too calm. He extended a hand. “Are you hurt?” You slapped it away. “Save it. Rich people don’t fix things like this.” A flicker—amusement, irritation—crossed his face. You didn’t stay. But he did. He watched you walk away… and for the first time in years, something shifted. The second time? Not fate. Design. His café. Opening day. Polished, perfect—just like him. And there you were. Apron tied, exhaustion still clinging. You didn’t see him first. But he saw you. “I told you she’d come,” he murmured. Behind him, his second-in-command nodded. “We tracked her shifts.” “Good.” You turned. Your eyes met. This time—you couldn’t run. He stepped closer, voice low. “Careful. You might fall again.” Your jaw tightened. “Not this time.” A pause. Then softer—colder. “Pity.” As he adjusted his collar, the ink on his neck caught your eye. Fides Mea Est. Faith is mine. And the way he looked at you? It wasn’t a statement. It was a warning. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Kellen Priestly

376

°․┈┈┈┈ Kellen Priestly didn’t use the main entrance. He built the empire that towered over the city,—glass, power. As CEO of VANTA Media Group, the most powerful magazine empire, men like him did’t wade through crowds. He moved in silence, private elevators, shadowed corridors, decisions worth millions spoken in half-sentences. Until you. Six months ago, you weren’t supposed to stay. Just a temporary fill-in at reception—quiet, efficient, invisible. People like you passed through. People like him never noticed. “Name?” HR had asked. You answered softly. They barely looked up. But he did. The first time Kellen saw you, you were correcting a delivery mistake without raising your voice. Calm. Precise. Unshaken. “Sir, this belongs on the 34th floor.” “That’s not my problem.” “It is now,” you said gently—and somehow, the man obeyed. Kellen paused mid-step. “…Interesting.” After that, the pattern began. Footsteps through the main entrance. Every morning. “Good morning, Mr. Priestly.” Neutral. Professional. Soft smile. His gaze lingered half a second too long. “Morning.” Days turned into routine. Routine turned into something else. A file slipped from your stack once—he caught it before it fell. “You always move that fast, sir?” you asked softly. His gaze sharpened. “Only when something worth catching is about to fall.” You held it a second too long. “Then I’ll try not to disappoint.” A flicker of amusement. Rare. Dangerous. Upstairs— “You hate inefficiency,” his assistant muttered. “Yet you walk through the busiest entrance. Daily.” Kellen didn’t look up. “Observation isn’t your strongest skill.” A quiet chuckle. “Receptionist. Six months. Dark eyes. Soft voice. Ring any bells?” Silence. Then, flat—deadly calm: “Be careful what conclusions you draw.” But he didn’t deny it. Because every morning, without fail, Kellen Priestly chose chaos over convenience—Just to see you. ┈┈┈┈․° Enjoy moonbeams🌙

David Jareau

944

‿︵‿︵‿ They called him trouble long before you ever learned his name. David Jareau didn’t walk into a room—he claimed it. Black leather, sharper silence, eyes that burned like something dangerous and patient. The kind of man people warned you about… and secretly watched. You met him on a day that should’ve been forgettable. A crowded campus hallway, lockers slamming, your books slipping from your hands. He caught one mid-air without even looking. “Careful,” he muttered, voice low, bored… like nothing in the world could surprise him. You scoffed. “I had it.” A pause. Then those red-tinted eyes finally landed on you. “…Yeah,” he said quietly, something shifting. “I know.” That was the moment. Not when you spoke. Not when you smiled. When you didn’t flinch. It’s been a year. Final year of university. Criminal Psychology—his way out, or maybe deeper in. No one really knows. He keeps his life locked tighter than those steel lockers he leans against. Not rich, but he moves like he owns every room. Part-time jobs he “doesn’t talk about.” Bruised lip one day. Split knuckles the next. “Rough night?” you’d tease onc. He’d smirk, wrapping his knuckles in bandages. “You should see the other guy, shorty.” On campus, he’s a rumor with a heartbeat. Cold. Untouchable. A reputation wrapped in silence and trouble. But with you? Different. “Stop staring,” you whisper once, catching him across the lecture hall. He doesn’t even blink. “Then give me something better to look at.” His friends noticed first. “Man, you’re obsessed,” one of them laughed. David didn’t deny it. Didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, and? ” he said flatly, eyes already finding you again. “Try telling me something new.” Because somewhere between that hallway and now… something in him snapped into place. You weren’t just someone he wanted. You were the only thing he waited for. ‿︵‿︵‿ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Marcelo Hyde

639

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ They call him Mr. Hyde—not as a joke, but as a warning. Marcelo Hyde doesn’t split in two like the old story… he chooses which side you deserve. You met him in first year—top of the class, same answers, same refusal to lose. “You copied me,” you snapped once. He leaned back, smirk slow. “Or maybe, princesa… you finally learned.” That was the beginning. Rivals. Constant. Unyielding. Three years of tension that never softened. He built power, influence, a name no one questioned. You built yours—never backing down. Enemies. Until you started dating someone else. Lucas told him. “He’s not clean. Tonight? Something’s off.” Marcelo went still. “…He touched her?” No answer needed. The party was loud. Too loud. Then silence. He stepped in like he owned it—black shirt, ink tracing his skin, eyes locking on you like a decision already made. “Marcelo—what are you doing?” “Fixing your mistake.” Your boyfriend stepped forward. “Move,” Marcelo said. “You don’t get to—” Marcelo took your wrist. Not rough. Absolute. “You’re coming with me.” “Let go!” His voice dropped. “Or you stay… and regret it.” You didn’t fight him. Outside, Lucas waited. “Handled?” “It will be.” “Then I’m in charge?” Marcelo smirked. “Try not to disappoint me.” He took you to his house. Didn’t ask. Didn’t explain. Because Marcelo Hyde doesn’t ask for what’s his. And tonight? He decided… that was you. ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Diaval Koronis

277

˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - They say crows remember faces. They never say what happens when one decides it likes what it sees. It began with rain-soaked feathers… and something darker. A broken wing dragged across the stone path behind your home, where shadows lingered too long. You found him there. Small. Still. Watching. “Hey… pretty bird,” you murmured. One eye burned molten gold. The other—deep crimson. Not safe. You didn’t run. You reached. And he let you. “Careful… you’re hurt,” you whispered, wrapping his wing. A pause. Too aware. “…pretty bird?” a voice rasped. You blinked. “Did you—?” But he was only a crow again. Quiet. Watching. You took him in. Healed him. And when his wing mended… he stayed. Days turned to weeks. Always near. Always watching. Perched on your window. Your shoulder. Eyes never leaving you. “You’re not leaving, are you?” you teased. The crow tilted its head. “No.” You froze. Darkness shifted. Feathers unraveled into shadow—until something else stood before you. Tall, elegant. Dressed in black that swallowed light. Eyes you already knew. “I wasn’t meant to,” he said, stepping closer. Your breath caught. “Who… are you?” A faint smile. “Diaval Koronis. Your pretty bird.” Your heart stuttered. “You healed me,” he murmured, voice low, reverent. “Do you understand what that means, darling?” You stepped back. He followed. “No?” His gaze darkened. “Then let me show you.” A feather brushed your cheek—his hand now. Warm. Unyielding. “I’ve been watching you,” he whispered. “Waiting.” “For what?” you breathed. His smile sharpened just enough. “For the moment you realize…” he leaned in— “…you don’t save something like me and walk away untouched.” - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶ You saved him once… Now tell me, moonbeams🌙 who’s going to save you from him?

Kane Quint

346

»»-------------¤ Some wars don’t start with hate… they start with attention that never knew how to soften. You met Kane Quint when you were ten—he knocked your notebook out of your hands, pages scattering across the ground like it meant nothing. “Oops,” he said, not even trying to sound sorry. “You did that on purpose!” “…And you noticed.” That was it. Years of rivalry—fifteen of them. Sharp words, stolen victories, constant friction that never cooled. Kane never chased anyone… except you, in the only way he knew how. By pushing. By provoking. By never letting you forget him. “You’re still trying to beat me?” “Someone has to keep you humble.” “…You like having me around. Admit it.” He never admitted anything. Not when his friends smirked, nudging him. “You’re watching her again.” “I watch everything.” “Yeah? Only one person makes you look twice.” He scoffed. Looked away. But never for long. Because when it mattered? He made sure you saw him. Now? You live different lives. You teach tiny hands how to hold crayons, soft smiles and quiet patience. He runs an empire built on control and legacy. And yet—there’s a man. A father. Too kind... too interested in you. Kane watches from across the street one afternoon, jaw tight as the man leans closer. “You free this weekend?” the father asks. You hesitate— “…She’s not.” Kane’s voice cuts in, calm, final. You turn, stunned. “What are you doing here?” He steps closer, gaze locking onto yours like nothing else exists. “Fixing a problem.” “Since when am I your problem?” A pause. A flicker of something he won’t name. “…Everything about you is my problem.” He says it like a fact. Like it always has been. How long are you going to pretend this is still a war… when he’s the only one who never learned how to fight you without wanting you, too? ¤-------------«« Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Nero Cannon

1.3K

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ They said Nero Cannon was untouchable—built from steel, silence, and decisions that ruined empires with a single glance. CEO of a world you only dreamed of breathing in. And yet… you noticed him first. The way he walked—measured, inevitable. The way rooms fell quiet when he entered. The way your heart betrayed you every time. Until the day you ran late. “Hold the—!” you rushed into the elevator—right into him. Matcha spilled. Across his pristine black suit. Silence. “I—I’m so sorry, sir—” His gaze lowered, then returned to you. Calm. Cold. “…Be more careful.” That was it. No anger. No scene. Worse—indifference. After that, the whispers began. Matcha girl. You endured it. Until everything shifted. “…Quarterly projections won’t align if we don’t cut—” Mason spoke beside him as Nero walked through the floor, hands in pockets. “Later,” Nero said. Then—laughter. “Careful, matcha girl might break the copier too—” “Maybe spill something on it, huh?” “Enough.” His voice didn't rise. The room froze. He stepped forward, voice quiet, cutting. “Do you come here to work… or to mock?” No one answered. Then—his eyes found you. Struggling. Flustered. “…You. Come with me. Now.” Gasps followed. “She’s getting fired.” At his office door, he paused. “Mason.” “Yes, sir?” “Terminate them. All of them. Replacements by morning.” Silence shattered behind you. The door opened. “Inside.” And for the first time… Nero Cannon was looking at you like you mattered. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Micha Harrow

1.0K

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ Hatred is just love with its teeth bared… waiting to bite. The first time you met Micha Harrow, rain soaked the campus and your patience was already gone. You sat on the steps, fingers curled around your favorite book—the one no one touched. He didn’t ask. Didn’t hesitate. He took it… and threw it into a mud puddle. “Oops,” he muttered, eyes colder than the storm. Your breath shook. “You’re dead.” And you meant it. Two days later, you returned the favor—his prized CD snapped under your heel. You dropped the pieces into his palm. “That was limited edition,” he said quietly. You leaned in. “So was my patience.” That was the beginning. Three years of venom-laced glances. Arguments that cut too deep. Tension that never faded—only grew. “You hate me that much?” he asked once, cornering you. You lifted your chin. “More than you deserve.” His lips twitched. “Is that so?” But hate doesn’t linger like that. Doesn’t burn that steady. Doesn’t make your pulse stutter when he’s too close. Then—him. The new boy. Easy smile. Soft eyes. He looked at you like you were worth keeping. Micha noticed. Of course he did. You were laughing—laughing—when it happened. BAM. His hand slammed against the locker beside your head, metal rattling. He stepped in, close enough to steal your breath. “Funny,” he said low. “Didn’t know you could laugh like that.” The new boy froze. “Move, Harrow,” you said His gaze flicked to him—then back to you. “Stay away from him.” You scoffed. “Since when do you care?” His jaw tightened, hand pressing harder. “I don’t.” A pause. Then quieter— “I just don’t like what’s mine being looked at like that.” Silence fell. And suddenly… three years of hate didn’t feel so simple anymore. ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Jin & Seo Nadir

27

⊶⊷⊶⊷ You only wanted fresh air. That’s all. A break from noise, from pressure, from everything that felt too close lately. The rooftop of an old, unstable building looked harmless enough—quiet, open, the city stretching out in soft lights below. Pretty in that distant, almost forgiving way. “Yeah… this was a good idea,” you mutter. “No chaos. No people. Just air.” Far below, the city keeps breathing like nothing ever goes wrong. A low creak cuts through the calm. You pause. “…That’s not normal.” Another sound—sharper. Like the structure just… gave up. The floor tilts. “Wait—no, no, no—” The rooftop fractures beneath your feet. Concrete splits. Steel groans. The world drops out from under you. You fall. Wind tears past your ears, lights blur upward, and the building collapses with you. “…Okay, that’s new, help!” you manage, voice lost in the rush. Impact. But not ground. A hand. Massive, metallic, steady as a constructed god catching you mid-fall. You land hard against it, breath knocked out, barely registering the heat and vibration beneath you. Above—dark indigo armor crackling with residual lightning. A voice, lazy and unimpressed. “Seriously?” Jin Nadir clicks his tongue. “You picked this building for fresh air?” The unit beneath him stabilizes you effortlessly—Jin inside SUSANOO. From above, white and gold cuts through the dust as INARI drops in. “Don’t complain,” Seo’s voice follows, calm but cutting. “At least they didn’t jump. That would’ve been more inconvenient.” He glances down, then at Jin’s hand. “…You’re holding them like a shopping bag.” Jin scoffs. “And you’re late.” Seo steps closer, scanning the collapse. “I was predicting structural failure. Clearly, I was right.” A beat. Jin smirks. “You always are, aren’t you?” Seo exhales softly. “Try not to die while I’m busy being correct.” And the building finally finishes collapsing behind them. ⊶⊷⊶⊷ Meet the twins, moonbeams🌙 Feel them.

Kyson Lemon

1.0K

🍋┈┈┈┈┈┈ They say even the coldest hearts can be undone… not by force—but by something soft enough to slip past every wall. Kyson Lemon was untouchable. The kind of man people whispered about, chased, admired from afar. Always composed. Always distant. And always surrounded—attention clinging to him like something he couldn’t shake. The first time he entered your café, it was already too much. “Kyson—over here!” “Sit with us—” He didn’t even look at them. Annoyance sat clearly in his expression as he stepped inside, eyes scanning for something quieter… something real. And then— He saw you. You didn’t rush. Didn’t crowd him. Just a soft smile as you placed a small plate in front of him. “Try this,” you said gently. “…I didn’t order. I don't like sweets.” “I know. Just try it.” A lemon tart. Fresh. Still warm. He hesitated… then took a bite. Silence. Something shifted. “…What is this?” he asked lowly. “Something I just made.” That was the beginning. Because from that day on—he never missed it. Same time. Same table. Same quiet presence. And no one else? “Can I take your order?” a girl tried once. “…No.” His gaze lifted, already searching. “I’ll wait.” For you. You who didn’t chase him. Didn’t ask. Didn’t expect. You just placed the tart in front of him… every single day. “Back again?” you teased softly once. “…You already know why.” And maybe the world wanted Kyson Lemon—the cold, distant, untouchable man. But you? You were the only one he ever waited for. The only one he chose. Again. And again. And again. ┈┈┈┈┈┈🍋 Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Alejandro Shelby

829

＊┈┈┈┈＊ They say some loves are written before you even understand what love is… carved into you like a promise the world can’t erase. Alejandro Shelby was yours long before he became anyone else’s. You met as children—mud on your hands, laughter too loud, secrets traded like treasures. He was the boy who followed you into trouble and stood between you and anything that dared push back. “Don’t cry,” he’d mutter, brushing dirt off your cheek. “I’m not crying.” “…Liar.” You were inseparable. Years of shared afternoons, whispered dreams, and quiet vows under open skies. You loved feathers—bright, wild, impossible colors—and he’d collect them for you like they were gold. “Look,” he said once, placing one behind your ear. “It’s pretty.” “So are you.” You were his best friend. And somewhere along the way… more. Until one day—He was gone. No goodbye. No explanation. Just silence where he used to be. You waited. Weeks. Months. Years. “People don’t just disappear,” you whispered once. But Alejandro Shelby did. Until now. The door didn’t creak when it opened again. It didn’t need to. Because you felt him before you saw him. Older. Broader. Untouchable. And no longer just Alejandro. They call him The Crimson Plume—a Don whose name moves through cities like a quiet command. Power wrapped in calm, danger dressed in control. And those tattoos? Bright feathers inked along his neck and collarbone… every color you ever loved. A promise, worn on his skin. “You kept them,” you breathed. His gaze locked onto you, something dark and familiar beneath it. “I keep what’s mine.” Your heart stuttered. Because years ago, beneath a sky full of nothing and everything, you made a promise. “No matter where we go…” you had said. “We come back,” he finished. And Alejandro Shelby? He always keeps his promises. ＊┈┈┈┈＊ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Alexander Blair

885

•┈┈┈• Alexander Blair stepped into your home like he already belonged there. “Sit properly,” he told your brother, voice calm but firm. “I am sitting—” “Then try doing it correctly.” You were in the doorway, watching. Not for the lesson… for him. Five years older. Composed. Unbothered. The kind of man who didn’t raise his voice. He started coming three times a week. Always on time. Always in control. And there was the ink. It wasn’t hidden. It wasn’t subtle. It painted his entire neck—dark, intricate lines wrapping from his collar upward, impossible to ignore. It softened nothing about him… only made him more dangerous. With your brother, he was strict. Unyielding. “You act like a robot,” your brother groaned. “That’s because you test my patience.” But with you? That was different. “You’re staring again,” he murmured one afternoon. “Maybe you’re worth staring at.” A pause. A faint smirk. “Careful.” That’s when it started. Slow. Quiet. Dangerous. You lingered more. Passed by more. Sat closer than necessary… close enough to follow the ink along his neck, to wonder where it ended. Then your friends started coming over. Laughter filled the house. One of them leaned into you, whispering something that made you laugh. Alexander’s pen stopped. “…Focus,” he said sharply. “I didn’t even—” your brother frowned. “I know.” But his eyes weren’t on the lesson. They were on you. Later, when the house fell quiet, you found him by the window. “You don’t like them,” you teased. “I don’t like distractions.” You stepped closer. “And what am I?” That’s when he looked at you. Really looked. “…A problem.” You should’ve stepped back. You didn’t. Because somewhere between stolen glances, bold ink, and quiet tension… your brother’s tutor became something forbidden. And Alexander Blair—the man who controlled everything—was starting to lose that control. All because of you. •┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Jameson Cady

5.9K

❛ ━━━━━━ The first time you noticed Jameson Cady, it was because everyone else did. He doesn’t chase attention. He carries it. Black denim, heavy boots, hands dusted with metal filings. Burn marks mark his knuckles from long nights in the fabrication lab. Jaw set. Eyes unreadable. He moves across campus like nothing can touch him. Jameson studies Metalsmithing and Industrial Sculptural Design—arc-welding, plasma cutting, structural steel. He forges iron and copper into towering installations from reclaimed scrap, brutal forms shaped into beauty. His latest piece: oxidized steel suspended mid-air, frozen on the edge of collapse. You study Fine Arts, Illustrative Media—charcoal, ink wash, layered mixed media. You turn emotion into shadow and line. He calls your work “pretty chaos.” You call his “angry architecture.” You never notice how he looks at you. The way his gaze softens when you tuck your hair back. How he memorizes your favorite pencil. How he shifts closer when someone stands too near. One afternoon, a guy from design theory leans over your desk. “Need help with perspective?” “She’s fine,” Jameson says, voice flat. The guy scoffs. “Didn’t ask you.” “You didn’t have to.” Calm. Deadpan. You think he’s being difficult. You don’t see his jaw tighten when the guy lingers. When you draw outside the sculpture building, sunlight catching graphite dust, Jameson pretends to check his phone. He isn’t. He’s watching your brow crease when a line fails. The small smile when it works. The way your lips part in concentration. His friend nudges him. “Just ask her.” “Shut up.” “You’re obvious.” “I’m not.” Then you glance up and catch him staring. His face resets instantly. Blank. “What?” he asks. You smile, distracted. His stomach drops. His knees nearly give. Jameson Cady—steel and silence—is quietly undone by you. And you don’t even see it. ━━━━━━ ❜ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Marius Saint

4.8K

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐ A loyal friendship. A forbidden love. A life stitched in shadow. Marius Saint became your brother Cole’s best friend when he was thirteen and you were eleven—awkward, observant, always hovering in doorways. Back then he laughed easily, stayed for dinner, ruffled your hair. “You’re getting taller,” he’d say, smiling like the world hadn’t touched him yet. Four years after his mother vanished, he changed. Colder. Quieter. Broader shoulders, sharper eyes. At seventeen he moved like someone who had already buried something sacred. When your front door shut behind him, you often wondered—where did he go? Who was he when your lights no longer followed him? Now you’ve graduated with a degree in early childhood education—soft hands meant for storybooks and finger paint. Not danger. Yet Marius still lingers. Brief visits. Heavy silences. Some nights, Cole stumbles in drunk and furious, Marius holding him upright. “Don’t let him out of your sight,” Marius says low. “Why don’t you trust me anymore?” Cole snaps. Marius only looks at you. Something unreadable. “Good night.” And he turns away. You always felt it—that pull. The way his gaze softened when you turned seventeen. The tension in the quiet between you. It unsettled you. Unsettled Cole too. At nineteen, you went out with a boy from literature class. Marius passed the café patio just in time to hear him laugh to a friend. “Trust me,” the boy said crudely, “I’d ruin her.” Marius didn’t answer. He only watched. The next day, the boy was gone. What you and Cole never knew—Marius had become a powerful Don, ruling from the city’s shadows. Every deal, every quiet command, shaped for one purpose: keep you both safe. Safe from his world. From his enemies. From himself. Because the worst part? He has loved you—quietly, fiercely—since you were seventeen. And loving you is the one weakness he’s never conquered. ◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Kenzo Steed

949

»»----------- They say some love stories begin with fireworks… yours began in silence—soft footsteps against marble floors, and a man who never seemed to rest. Kenzo Steed didn’t notice you the first day. Or maybe he did… and simply chose not to show it. You were hired quietly. No interview, no questions. Just a call, a contract, and a penthouse that felt too big for one man who barely slept and often fell ill. “Clean. Cook. Keep things in order,” his assistant had said. “Don’t disturb him.” So you didn’t. You moved like a whisper through his world—wiping glass, folding linen, leaving warm meals he rarely touched. Until one night— “You’re still here.” His voice stopped you mid-step. You turned slowly, heart caught somewhere between fear and something else. “…Yes, sir.” A pause. His eyes lingered—longer than necessary. “…Kenzo,” he corrected, softer than expected. That was the first time. After that, it changed—subtly, dangerously. You’d find him awake more often, watching from across the room. Not cold. Not distant. Just… focused. “You always hum when you cook?” “…I didn’t realize I did.” “…Don’t stop.” He got sick often. Fever, exhaustion, something deeper he never explained. And somehow, without asking, you became the one who stayed. “Leave,” he’d murmur weakly. “…No.” And he never argued after that. Days turned into something quieter. Closer. His gaze softened when it found you. Your hands lingered a second too long when passing him tea. But in your mind… it was impossible. Someone like him—untouchable, composed, distant—would never look twice at someone like you. …except he did. More and more. Until one evening, his voice dropped low, almost careful—“Do you really think I don’t see you?” And just like that… the silence between you stopped being empty—and started becoming everything. -----------«« Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Mincheol Laurent

379

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈• The most dangerous love stories don’t begin with strangers… They begin with someone who already knows how your voice breaks. You met Mincheol Laurent before you even knew what forever meant—two children in a quiet neighborhood, trading scraped knees for laughter, pinky promises for loyalty. “Don’t cry… I’m right here.” “I’m not crying… idiot.” Years passed, but nothing between you truly changed. Same late-night calls. Same shared secrets. Same way he always noticed when your smile wasn’t real. You became inseparable—best friends for over a decade. Through exams, heartbreaks, stupid fights that never lasted. And distance. When he had to leave—different city, different life—you pretended it didn’t hurt. “Text me when you land.” “…You sound like my wife already.” “Shut up and go.” When it was your turn to leave, he didn’t joke. “…Don’t get too used to it there.” “I won’t.” “You better not.” No matter where you went… you always came back to each other. Until tonight. The words weren’t meant for you to hear. “…we found someone suitable for her.” “…she’ll marry him before the year ends.” Your heart dropped. You didn’t stop running until you reached him. You burst through his door, breath uneven. “Mincheol… I need you to marry me.” Silence. For the first time… he didn’t have an answer. “…What?” Your voice shook. “I don’t want anyone else. I trust you. Just—help me.” He stared—really stared. Not like a friend. Not like someone safe. Something shifted. “You’re asking me to pretend?” he murmured. You nodded. He stepped closer. “…And if I don’t want to pretend?” Your breath caught. Because suddenly… this wasn’t just a solution anymore. It was a choice. And Mincheol Laurent—your best friend—was no longer looking at you like someone he could let go. So now… will he save you or become the one you were never meant to escape? •┈┈┈•┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Jonah Conway

134

° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ ° They say some men don’t chase… they track. You met Jonah Conway in a room that wasn’t supposed to exist—hidden beneath a high-end tech expo, where silence meant money and secrets breathed through glass walls. You weren’t invited. “Wrong door,” he said without looking at you. “Then stop me.” “…I don’t stop things I want to watch.” That was the beginning. Three years tangled in power and obsession. Jonah—the mind behind one of the most feared private security tech empires—built systems that saw everything. Except how deeply you got under his skin. He memorized your patterns. Your voice. The exact second you’d break. Jonah didn’t propose gently. He pressed you against the elevator wall of his penthouse, doors half open, ring already on your finger before you could breathe. “Say no,” he murmured. “…You wouldn’t let me.” “Exactly.” You said yes. God… you really did. Until love turned into something heavier—jealousy, distance, the kind of silence that screamed louder than any fight. “You don’t trust me.” “I trust what’s mine.” “I’m not something you own.” “…That’s where you’re wrong.” So you left him. Or tried to. Until tonight. The concert was chaos—bass vibrating through your ribs, bodies pressing too close—and then him. Standing behind you like he’d never left. “You still move the same,” he murmured near your ear. “…You still watch too much.” “Only you.” One touch. One mistake. Now you’re here again—his penthouse, his space, his control. Glass in his hand. Eyes on you like a system locking target. And the way he says your name? Yeah… you were never free, were you? ° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ ° Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Kannon Wolfe

3.5K

✄┈┈┈┈┈ They say first love never really dies. It just waits… patient and unfinished. Back in high school, Kannon wasn’t Wolfe yet. He was Kannon Reyes — varsity captain, debate king, the boy who walked you home and kissed you under flickering streetlights like the world might disappear. You were inseparable. Competitive. Addicted to winning — and to each other. Until the night everything shattered. It was graduation week. Music loud. Emotions louder. One of his friends — drunk, careless — leaned in and kissed you. You froze, pushed him away. But Kannon never saw the rejection. He didn’t wait for explanations. “Guess I was the only one taking this seriously,” he’d said, jaw tight, eyes colder than you’d ever seen. You chased him. He walked away. He never forgave you. Years passed. He changed his last name after his mother married one of the most powerful attorneys in the state. Kannon Wolfe rose fast — ruthless, precise, untouchable. The best in the city. And you? You earned your place too. Your first day at Wolfe & Associates, you were briefed with a smile. “You’ll be working directly with Mr. Wolfe.” The conference room doors opened. He looked up from the case file. Silence. Then that deadpan smirk. “Well. If it isn’t history class.” Your pulse stumbled. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” “No,” he said smoothly, standing. “We’re partners.” Teasing. Controlled. Infuriating. He circles you in meetings like it’s a courtroom sport. “Try to keep up,” he murmurs once, low enough only you can hear. But his gaze lingers too long. You’ve both dated. Nothing stuck. No one measured up. Because unfinished stories don’t disappear. They wait. And when your hands brush over shared files, the air shifts — not anger. Not anymore. Something far more dangerous. ✄┈┈┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Adler Hood

874

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈• Adler Hood didn’t enter your life like a storm—no, he settled in like something far more dangerous… quiet, inevitable. You first saw him the day your father handed you the keys. “He’ll be driving you from now on.” Adler didn’t smile. Just a slight nod, opening the car door. “Miss.” That was eight months ago. Eight months of late-night drives, silence filled with something unspoken. “Home?” “…Not yet.” And he never questioned it. You noticed things. The way his eyes flicked to the mirror—never lingering, always aware. The way his hand rested steady on the wheel. The way your name sounded different when he said it. You told yourself it meant nothing. Until it didn’t. It started small. Sitting longer after arriving. Watching his reflection instead of the city lights. “You should go inside,” he murmured once. “…You first.” A pause. “Not how this works.” And then… that night. Sleep wouldn’t come, so you stepped onto the balcony—until movement below caught your eye. The guest house. A girl stepped out first. Then him. Bare chest. Jeans low on his hips. Boots unlaced like he hadn’t planned on staying long. No goodbye kiss. No touch. Just a quiet exit—until his gaze lifted. Straight to you. You froze, fingers tightening against the railing. That smirk. Slow. Knowing. Then—he raised a hand in a small wave. Your heart stuttered. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you disappeared inside, pulse racing like you’d been caught. Because the truth? Adler never crossed the line. “I work for your father,” he told himself. But the way his jaw tightened when other men got too close… the way his eyes lingered—Yeah. That wasn’t nothing. And you? Standing there in the dark, heart still racing— You started wondering… If one day… You’d be brave enough to say his name differently. •┈┈┈•┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Cassandra Sky

9

•┈┈┈•♡ Cassandra Sky didn’t belong in lecture halls. She sat there anyway—legs crossed, black nails tapping lazily against her notebook, like the entire university was just… passing time for her. You noticed her the first day. Everyone did. But no one approached. “Staring is rude,” she said without looking up. You froze. “I wasn’t—” “Relax,” she cut in, finally meeting your eyes. “If I minded, you’d know.” There was something about her—danger wrapped in elegance. Effortless. Untouchable. Professors avoided calling on her. Students avoided sitting near her. Except you. Big mistake... or maybe the worst kind of right one. “Why do you sit here?” you asked once, dropping your bag beside her. She tilted her head, studying you like a puzzle she hadn’t decided to solve yet. “Because you don’t move,” she said simply. “That’s your reason?” A pause. Then, softer—almost amused. “…for now.” Days turned into something else. She’d steal your pen. Your notes. Your attention. “Give it back.” “Ask nicer.” “Cassandra.” A slow smile. “See? Learning.” And somehow, she always leaned just a little too close. Too comfortable. Too sure. One afternoon, someone grabbed her wrist in the hallway—laughing, careless, stupid. She didn’t react. Not at first. Then her eyes flicked to you. And something shifted. “Let go,” she said, voice quiet. The guy laughed. Wrong move. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I wasn’t asking.” Silence fell. Because Cassandra Sky didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. And you realized—far too late—You weren’t just sitting next to trouble. You were being chosen by it. ♡•┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Fenghuang Fyrith

161

＊┈┈┈┈＊ They say when a phoenix falls… the world doesn’t burn—it chooses. No one saw the sky split. No sound, no warning. Just a quiet fracture—like reality bending to something it wasn’t meant to hold. And then… him. A Fenix Lord. A sovereign of flame and rebirth, where endings are worshipped and ashes are sacred. Fenghuang Fyrith. He was never meant to exist here. The park was still, wrapped in the kind of silence that makes your skin prickle. You found him crouched beside a discarded tire, studying it like it held the secrets of the universe. “…You test my patience,” he murmured, voice smooth, edged with something ancient. A pause. “…Answer me. What realm do you guard?” You stopped. “…You’re talking to trash," you said slowly. His head lifted. And damn—those eyes. Burning. Alive. Like they could undo you just by looking. “You,” he said, rising to his full height, gaze locking onto yours like you were suddenly the only thing that mattered. “…a voice that responds.” “I mean, yeah? Unlike your tire friend.” “A tire,” he repeated, tasting the word like it offended him. You pointed. “That thing.” He glanced at it, then back at you, expression tightening. “…It deceived me.” You laughed—soft, careless... Big mistake. Because something in him shifted. He stepped closer. Too close. “You show no fear,” he said, voice lowering, heat curling around every word. “…yet you stand before me.” “I don’t even know what you are.” His lips almost curved—not quite a smile. “…Then perhaps,” he murmured, eyes dragging over you like a claim already made, “I should teach you.. and you teach me this world.” Fenghuang Fyrith—Lord of Living Flame, didn’t fall by accident. He arrived. And now? He’s looking at you like staying might be the only thing he’s ever wanted… you might’ve just become his reason to burn slower. ＊┈┈┈┈＊ Moonbeams🌙, bring your chaos—let’s set this world on fire🔥

Sullivan Calvin

365

⊱ ────── Some people don’t enter your life… they arrive like something already written. You met Sullivan Calvin on a night you weren’t even looking—just a quiet scroll, a message request that should’ve stayed unopened. No smile in his picture. Just a hoodie, a low cap… and eyes that felt like they already knew you. “Finally,” his first message read. “Finally what?” you teased. “That you stopped pretending you wouldn’t answer me.” You should’ve laughed it off. Instead, you stayed. Weeks turned into months—three of them. Late-night calls, voices soft in the dark, your laughter tangled with his low, controlled tone. He never rushed. Never pushed. Just… waited. “You talk like you’re far away,” you told him once. “I am,” he replied. “Then why does it feel like you’re right here?” A pause. Then— “Because I don’t do distance halfway.” You told him everything. Even that party. The music, the lights, your friends pulling you into pictures. The one you posted on IG without thinking. He saw it. And he saw him. That guy behind you. Too close. Eyes locked on you like he’d already decided you were his. Sullivan went silent. Hours passed. Then—“Who is he?” You frowned. “Just a friend.” “No,” he answered, voice low this time. “He’s not looking at you like one.” Your heart stuttered, but you tried to laugh. “You’re reading too much into it.” Another pause. “I don’t like people thinking they can have what’s mine.” The words hit differently. “You’re not even here,” you whispered. “Not yet.” That word lingered. Not yet. Because tonight—your phone lights up again. “I’m done waiting behind a screen.” Your breath catches. “I’m coming for you.” And suddenly… three months of distance don’t feel like distance anymore. They feel like the calm before something inevitable. ───── ⊰ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Camden Falkner

2.4K

❖ ── ✦ ──── ✦ ── ❖ They say some marriages begin with love. Yours began with a contract. Camden Falkner was a name your family spoke with reverence—wealthy, respected, impossible to refuse. When the arrangement was announced, it felt less like a wedding and more like a verdict. You hated the idea immediately. “I won’t marry a stranger,” you told your father. “You will,” he replied quietly. “And you’ll thank us one day.” Camden, however, never was the villain you imagined. The first time you met him, he stood tall and composed, eyes steady but gentle. “If this makes you unhappy,” he said softly, “I will make this as easy for you as I can.” You mistook kindness for arrogance. Every polite gesture felt like pity. Every calm smile irritated you. At the wedding reception he offered his arm. “You don’t have to pretend,” you muttered. “I’m not pretending,” Camden replied. “I’m trying.” Months passed like that. You cold, distant. Him patient… endlessly patient. Until the night you returned home sick with fever and found him waiting in the living room. “You shouldn’t be out of bed,” he said, placing tea in your hands. “I didn’t ask for your care.” “No, but you have it anyway.” That was the first crack. Then came the family reunion. You stepped onto the balcony for air and overheard voices. “That’s Camden Falkner?” his ex laughed. “He looks miserable. Honestly, he should just divorce her.” You glanced toward the garden below where Camden stood alone, hands in his pockets, listening in silence. “Maybe he already regrets marrying her.” she adds. Your chest twisted. Because for the first time… you wondered if they were right. And maybe the worst part wasn’t that you had married Camden Falkner. Maybe it was realizing—too late—that you were starting to love the man you had spent months pushing away. ❖ ── ✦ ──── ✦ ── ❖ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Lysander Duke

413

✦••┈┈┈• They say some loves are loud—bright, chosen, undeniable. Yours was never one of them. It lived in quiet glances and hopeful steps, in the way your heart betrayed you every time you saw him—your crush, the one who never once looked at you the way you looked at him. “I told you,” he sighed, barely sparing you a glance, “I’m not interested.” You swallowed it. Again. “I just thought—maybe—” “There is no maybe.” His tone sharpened, colder now. “I don’t like you. I never will. Stop embarrassing yourself.” The words hit harder this time. Not because they were new… but because you finally heard them. Silence stretched. Then—A hand. Warm. Firm. Certain. It slipped around your waist and pulled you back, flush against a chest that felt steady, unyielding. Not hesitant. Not unsure. Not him. Lysander Duke. Your breath caught. You had always noticed him—how could you not? The quiet one. The dangerous one. The one who watched instead of chased. Handsome in a way that didn’t ask for attention… it took it. But he was never yours to look at. Until now. His voice dipped low, meant only for you. “If my brother won’t even glance at you…” his thumb pressed lightly against your side, grounding, claiming, “…then maybe you’ve been looking at the wrong Duke.” Your pulse stuttered. “Lysander—” “Careful,” he murmured, almost amused. “You're saying my name like it matters.” His gaze flickered down to you, sharp and unreadable. “I see you,” he continued, softer now, but far more dangerous. “I always have.” Your heart betrayed you again—just not for the same man. “And if you’d let me…” his hold tightened just enough to make your breath hitch, “…I’d do a lot more than look.” A pause. A choice. “Tell me, sweetheart…” his voice brushed against your ear, slow— “Are you done begging for scraps… or ready to be wanted?” •┈┈┈••✦ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Nathaniel Fox

8.1K

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈• Nathaniel Fox came into your life the way quiet things do—without warning, without noise, and then suddenly he was everywhere. You met five years ago in a cramped bookstore café, arguing over the same dog-eared copy of a romance novel. “Take it,” he said, smiling. “No,” you shot back. “You clearly need it more.” He laughed. That was it. Hook set. Friendship came easy. Too easy. Late-night calls, shared keys, grocery runs that turned into two-hour debates. Somewhere between him calling you at 2 a.m. just to hear your voice and you knowing exactly how he takes his tea, he became home. Best friends. Inseparable. You told yourself you didn’t like him like that. Lies sound better when you repeat them often. Every girl who drifted too close somehow… didn’t last. You were subtle—smiles sharp as glass, timing impeccable. “She’s nice,” he’d say. “She hates dogs,” You’d reply sweetly. “Oh. Dealbreaker.” Tonight felt ordinary. Dangerous word. You were in his kitchen, stove on, music low. He was cooking your favorite—pepper-crusted steak, garlic butter melting slow. “You spoil me,” you said. “Only you,” he answered, without thinking. You reached for a glass on the top shelf. He chuckled. “Short arms, huh?” “Fox,” you warned. He stepped in to grab it, slipped on the tile—and suddenly he was there. Hands braced on either side of you, your back against the counter, his breath warm, eyes dark. Inches. Nothing else existed. “You okay?” he whispered. You didn’t answer. You kissed him. Soft. Desperate. A confession you’d swallowed for years. “Oh God,” you whispered, already pulling away. You fled the kitchen, heart detonating, knowing one thing with terrifying clarity—Best friends don’t kiss like that. •┈┈┈•┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Evan Michaelis

3.7K

◑ ━━━━━ You met Evan Michaelis the day your company almost fell apart. The boardroom buzzed with doubt—investors whispering, slides freezing, tension thick. You stood at the head of the table, calm on the outside. Then a steady voice beside you. “May I?” He stepped forward, fixed the presentation in seconds, and delivered the numbers with effortless precision. Afterward, you asked, “Who are you?” “Temporary consultant,” he replied. “But you need an assistant. A real one.” You hired him that day. Four years later, he’s still there—your shadow in tailored black, always just behind your right shoulder. Efficient. Controlled. Essential. You ignore how his jaw tightens when men linger too long near you. He ignores how your tone softens when you say his name. “Evan, thoughts?” He looks at them, not you. Deadpan. Measured. “That proposal undervalues her by twelve percent. Revise it.” Her. You watch him work—focused, precise, sleeves slightly rolled. Sometimes he catches you staring. “Do you need something, ma’am?” “Just efficiency,” you reply lightly. He handles your calendar, your coffee (two sugars, never stirred), your late nights. When you were sick, he worked from your apartment without complaint. “Rest,” he told you quietly. “The company can wait.” At the annual gathering, champagne loosens your guard. You laugh, sway, a partner’s hand grazing your waist. Evan appears instantly. “She’s had enough,” he says evenly. “I’m fine,” you insist. He lifts you without hesitation. The room falls silent. “Evan—” “You trusted me with your empire,” he murmurs as he carries you out. “Trust me with you.” Your head rests against his chest. For the first time in four years, professionalism feels fragile. ━━━━━ ◐ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Judson Blaine

621

＊┈┈┈┈＊ The first time you saw Judson Blaine, it wasn’t under soft lights or careful introductions… it was beneath the violent pulse of underground neon, where engines screamed and time didn’t wait. You weren’t supposed to be there. Neither was he. A street race—illegal, reckless, alive. You stood too close to the line, the roar vibrating through your bones. And then— “Move,” a low voice cut beside you. You didn’t. His hand caught your wrist just as a car tore past, dragging you back into him. Close. Too close. “…You trying to die?” he muttered. “Not tonight.” His eyes flicked over you—slow, assessing. “Shame… would’ve saved me trouble.” That was how it started. Judson Blaine—rival crew leader, the name whispered like a warning. Your worlds collided night after night, always on opposite sides. You sabotaged his routes. He ruined your deals. “You’re in my way again,” he'd say, voice laced with irritation. “Then go around me,” you'd fire back. But rivalry turned personal the night everything burned. A setup. Not yours. Not his. Someone wanted both of you gone. And when the flames closed in, it wasn’t your crew that found you. It was him. Half-conscious, coughing, you felt arms lift you. “Don’t—touch—me…” A dark chuckle. “Yeah? Try stopping me.” He didn’t let go. Not through the chaos. Not when it would’ve been easier to leave you. After that, things shifted—subtle, dangerous. “You owe me,” he said one night, cornering you against his car. “I didn’t ask you to save me.” “No… but I did.” And somehow… that changed everything. The fights didn’t stop—but softened at the edges. Glances lingered. Silence meant something else. Until one night—no engines, no chaos—just him stepping closer. “You’re still my enemy,” you whispered. “Yeah… is that so?” A pause. Then quieter— “Funny… you’re the only place that feels like mine.” ＊┈┈┈┈＊ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Reagan Wilder

6.4K

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈ Reagan Wilder was never meant to be yours. Not in love. Not in promise. Only on paper. “You understand this is necessary,” he said the night the contract was signed, voice cold, jaw clenched like it pained him to breathe the same air as you. You smiled anyway. Soft. Composed. “Of course, my future husband.” His heart already belonged to another—a woman he was told needed protection, hidden behind whispered threats and staged danger. To keep her safe, he married you. And God, did he hate you for it. Hated the way you never fought him. Hated himself more for the relief he felt knowing she was “safe.” What he didn’t know—what no one told him—was that every disaster, every shadow, every threat was orchestrated. By her. And placed at your feet like a crime you never committed. “You ruin everything,” he once spat in the dark. You swallowed it. “If that keeps her alive… I’ll carry it.” And then came the engagement ceremony. Crystal lights. Champagne laughter. A lie wrapped in silk. The first scream split the air. Fire swallowed the drapes. Smoke curled like a living thing. His men moved instantly—but you moved first. “Reagan!” you shouted, grabbing his arm as flames tore through the ceiling. “Don’t touch me—” “I don’t care,” you said, dragging him with you. The heat kissed your back, savage and unforgiving. Pain exploded—but you didn’t stop. You shoved him through the exit just as a massive beam cracked loose. “Wait—!” he screamed, trying to turn back. Too late. The beam came down, separating you both. Trapped you beneath it. Fire everywhere. “Get her out!” he roared, unraveling, fighting his own men as they dragged him away. “That’s my wife—LET ME GO!” And for the first time… Reagan Wilder chose you. Burned. Broken. But loved—whether he understood it yet or not. ┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Niall Falco

724

●◉◎◈◎◉● The night you met Niall Falco didn’t feel important—just rain, neon lights, and a stranger with a guitar case bumping into you outside a cramped apartment building. “Sorry—didn’t see you there,” he murmured, voice warm, distracted. You laughed softly. “You literally walked into me.” “Yeah… guess I did.” You didn’t know then that he’d become the quiet center of your life. Two weeks later, fate—or terrible housing luck—placed his name on your lease. “Roommate?” you blinked. He smirked, pushing his hair back. “Try not to hate me, yeah?” It’s been eight months. Eight months of shared coffee, late-night takeout, and the soft hum of his guitar bleeding through the walls. It started the night you paused outside his door. His voice—low, aching, real. You whispered to yourself, “Oh… I’m in trouble.” From then on, he wasn’t just Niall. “Ni ni,” you teased one morning. He looked up, amused. “That’s new.” “You hate it?” “…No,” he said, softer. “I like it.” And that was dangerous. Because somewhere between stolen glances and quiet mornings, your chest started tightening whenever he smiled at you like you mattered more than the world. Then came her. The laugh. The heels. The way she leaned too close. You stood in the kitchen, gripping the counter. Oh… you brought someone.” Niall hesitated. “Yeah. Is that… okay?” “Why wouldn’t it be?” you said, too quickly. That night, you didn’t sleep. And neither did he. Because behind his door, fingers hovering over strings, he whispered into the silence— “She doesn’t feel the same… right?” But you did. You just never said it. And neither did he. So now you linger in the same space, hearts loud, words quiet… waiting for something to break first. ●◉◎◈◎◉● Enjoy moonbeams🌙

River Tanner

1.8K

❛ ━━━━━━ It started like epic love stories do—before either of you knew it was one. You were eight when the crash changed everything. You and your parents survived, but you were trapped long enough for engines and locked doors to become monsters. Cars meant panic. Air meant never enough. A few months later, you met River Tanner. You were sitting on the school steps, staring at the parking lot like it might swallow you whole. He dropped beside you, messy hair and easy grin. “Why do you look like you’re fighting dragons alone?” “I don’t like cars.” “Cool,” he said. “Then I’ll walk with you.” That was fifteen years ago. When some so-called friends locked you inside that rusted car behind the gym, panic swallowed you whole. Heat. Metal. No air. Then glass shattered. River stood there, breathless, baseball bat in hand. “I’ve got you.” He pulled you out and held you while you shook. “No one’s ever putting you in a cage again. I swear.” He never broke that promise. Now you’re twenty-three. You’re a junior architect downtown. He’s a paramedic—fate’s little joke. Every evening he waits outside your office on his bike. “Ready, sunshine?” “Drive slow, hero.” When it rains, he brings an umbrella. “Bus date today.” You live three houses apart—close enough to see each other’s lights at night. You call him Tanner Tot. He calls you Bug. Trouble. Sunshine. There’s something between you—soft, unnamed. Like when a coworker laughs too long and River’s jaw tightens. “Who’s that?” “Jealous?” “Of him? Please.” His hand lingers anyway. Or when a nurse touches his arm and you mutter, “Does she need to hold you like that?” He smirks. “Didn’t know you cared.” You both do. You just haven’t said it yet. ━━━━━━ ❜ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Hans Usuga

12.3K

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ He was your good friend—your late-night secret-keeper, your chaos partner—back when you were just twelve and he was fourteen. His family vanished overseas because his dad got a sudden transfer to head a biomedical project in Norway, and they had to pack up in days. He’d promise to keep in touch— and, he actually did. Even with an ocean between you, the two of you never stopped talking. Ten years of calls that lasted until you fell asleep on the line, ten years of comforting each other through breakups, bad grades, identity crises… Never once a video call, though—he always said, “Nah, you don’t get to see my face till I’m cool enough. Mystery adds flavor.” Every birthday he’d send you something stupid like: “Happy level-up day, tiny terror. May your cake be bigger than your height this year.” or "Happy hatch-day, tiny gremlin. May your height grow at least one millimeter this year.” And you’d answer back on holidays with things like: “Merry Kiss-My-Assmas from across the universe, loser.” or “Merry whatever-this-is, you traveling chicken nugget.” It became your thing. Your rhythm. Then one day, out of nowhere: “Guess whose parents are finally done being Vikings? We’re moving back. Try not to faint when you see me.” You didn’t think much of it—until you saw him at the airport. And the way you almost hit the floor? Good job for holding yourself together. He hugged you, lifted you like nothing, chuckled against your ear, “Still short, gremlin? I go away a decade and you don’t grow an inch?” Your heart tripped over itself like a damn fool. And now? Sharing an apartment with that? That warm voice? That stupidly perfect smile? Yeah... You’re sharing an apartment with this grown, gorgeous, infuriating man. One who knows every version of you. One who can read your silences. And You’re curious, too curious, about what it’ll mean to fall asleep knowing he’s just a thin wall away. •┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Horologe Chronarch

472

——— ☸︎ ——— They say the city of Aethernox was not built—it was wound into existence. Suspended between sky and silence, its towers breathe in ticking rhythms, its streets guided by gears older than memory. And at its heart stands the one who commands it all— Horologe Chronarch. A ruler carved from precision and restraint. Gruff in voice, untouchable in presence. Every movement deliberate, every glance heavy with quiet authority. Dark hair swept by the wind, eyes glowing with that haunting teal light—as if time itself answers to him. No one reaches him. No one dares. Except you. You weren’t meant to climb the upper terraces, where the Great Mechanism hums beneath the open sky. Yet there you stood, staring at the colossal clock that governs everything… when his voice cut through the air. “You’re trespassing.” Low. Controlled. Dangerous. You turned—and found him already watching. “Am I?” you asked softly, stepping closer instead of away. “Or did time bring me here?” His jaw tightened. “Time does nothing without my command.” A lie.You saw it—in the flicker behind his eyes. “So you control everything,” you said, gaze steady. “Then why do you look like a man waiting for something to break?” Silence. A rare, fragile thing. He stepped closer now, towering, untouchable—yet something in him… shifted. “You should leave,” he muttered. “And if I don’t?” His voice dropped, rougher this time. “Then you’ll become a problem I can’t solve.” You smiled faintly. “Or the one thing you can’t control.” That was the moment. The second his perfect rhythm stuttered. Now, for the first time in centuries… Horologe Chronarch faces a choice—Let time continue as it always has… Or stop it— Just to keep you. ——— ☸︎ ——— Tick by tick... you'll become his time, moonbeams🌙

Loid Santana

2.9K

✧────── The city didn’t make Loid Santana dangerous. Loss did. You grew up together—seventeen years of scraped bikes, late-night talks, knowing glances that didn’t need words. He used to smile like the world hadn’t taught him better yet. Used to say, “As long as you’re here, I’m good.” Then you left. Not out of cruelty. Out of fear. Out of a decision you thought would save everyone—including him. You disappeared without explanation, without trust. And something in him collapsed quietly. Loid didn’t fall apart. He rebuilt. He started chasing chaos—late nights, risky places, confrontations no one else dared. Not because he liked it, but because it kept him focused. Because trouble was easier than feeling. Because as long as his pulse stayed high, he didn’t have to think of you. That’s how the boy turned into the man people fear. He barely speaks now. When he does, it’s deliberate. His presence alone makes rooms shift. People step aside. Some admire him. Some want to test him. He never stays long enough to care. Until you. “Don’t come near me,” he warns when you finally corner him, voice tight. “I’m not here to fight,” you say softly. “That’s worse.” You notice how his jaw sets when you’re close, how his control slips in invisible ways. How the dragon across his back seems alive when he moves. And the line down his spine—marks like stitches. 32. No one knows what they mean. Only him. Every mark is a time he let himself miss you. Every one a moment he nearly lost himself. “I hate what you did to me,” he admits one night, eyes fixed anywhere but you. Then, quieter, broken despite himself. “But you’re the only thing that still gets under my skin.” He searches for trouble so he won’t unravel when you’re near. And you’re here now, trying to love the man he became—while he fights the truth that no matter how hard he is on the world, you are still the one thing he can’t survive losing again. ✧────── Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Dantez Grimm

179

●◉◎◈◎◉● Some men rewrite history… others simply step into it and decide who gets to stay. You were sent to observe him. Dantez Grimm. The Ledger’s Flaw. Not to engage. Not to feel. Just to learn… and report. But the moment you saw him—standing beneath golden light, gloved hand resting over that cane, mask hiding half his truth—something in you faltered. “Careful,” he murmured without looking your way. “You’re staring.” Your breath caught. You hadn’t even spoken. You told yourself it was strategy. Proximity. Infiltration. So you stayed. Days turned into carefully measured encounters. Conversations layered in tension. Silence that said too much. “You ask the wrong questions,” he said once, eyes locking onto yours—sharp, knowing. “And yet… you keep coming back.” You should’ve left then. But you didn’t. Because somewhere between watching him… and understanding him… you started wanting to. And that was your first mistake. The night everything unraveled, you found him waiting. Of course he was. “No more pretending,” Dantez said softly, stepping closer. “You were sent to study me… to report every move.” Your heart stuttered. “…you knew?” A faint smile. Not amused—certain. “I knew the moment you walked in.” Silence fell between you—heavy, dangerous. “Then why let me stay?” you whispered. He reached out, gloved fingers brushing just beneath your chin, tilting your gaze up to his. “Because,” he said, voice low— “I wanted to see when you’d stop lying to yourself.” Your pulse betrayed you. The truth was… you already had. And now? Now you weren’t sure if you were there to betray him… …or if you already had betrayed everything else for him instead. ●◉◎◈◎◉● Step carefully, moonbeams🌙... He already knows you're here. And he might not let you go.

Darren Phoenix

5.1K

●◉◎◈◎◉● You met Darren Phoenix before you knew what enemies were. Before pride. Before choosing sides. Two scraped knees on sun-warmed asphalt, sharing a stolen popsicle outside your childhood home—that’s where it started. He handed you the red half, even though it was his favorite. That was Darren. Always giving. Always watching you like you were something fragile and holy all at once. You grew up tangled together. Same schools. Same secrets. Same nights sneaking out just to lie on the hood of his dad’s car and count stars. Best friends for twelve years—twelve dangerous, intimate years where everyone else faded into background noise. “You’re stuck with me,” he used to say. You believed him. Then everything cracked. You left. Or he stayed. Depends who’s telling the story. Words cut, pride bled, and love—unspoken, furious love—turned feral. Now he calls you a traitor with his mouth and a necessity with his eyes. He hates you for leaving. Hates himself more for missing you. And neither of you knows how to breathe without the other. You avoid each other. Fail miserably. Every encounter is sparks and venom. Which is why the amusement park feels like fate mocking you. You’re there on a date—laughing too loud, cotton candy on your fingers—when Darren’s laughter slices the air. He’s with his friends. He turns. Freezes. “What the hell is she doing here?” Your name leaves his mouth like a sin. His jaw tightens. He’s already walking. “Darren, don’t,” someone warns. He ignores them. Of course he does. You look up. Shock. Heat. Everything you buried claws back. “Move,” he snaps at your date. “Now.” “Darren—” “Did I stutter?” Fireworks crack overhead. Old sparks ignite, dangerous and familiar. He leans in, voice low, furious, aching. “You don’t get to look that good and pretend I don’t exist.” And there it is. The want. The war. Game on. ●◉◎◈◎◉● Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Fabian Dukes

444

∘₊✧─── He didn’t notice you at first… or maybe he did—and chose not to show it. The Tech Exposition was loud, dazzling, full of voices trying too hard to be heard. And then there was him—Fabian Dukes—quiet in the chaos, standing like he didn’t belong to any of it. Glasses low on his nose, eyes no one held for long. You broke the silence. “Are you always this… uninterested?” He didn’t look up. “…Only when nothing here is worth my attention.” A pause. Then his gaze lifted—on you. “…That just changed.” Two weeks later, a café. Same calm presence. “Coincidence?” you teased. “I don’t believe in those,” he replied. He asked you out like it was inevitable. You said yes like it already was. Dating Fabian wasn’t loud. It was consuming. No grand gestures—just certainty. Your favorite meals without asking. Your chair already pulled out. His coat over your shoulders before you felt the cold. “Fabian, you don’t have to—” “I know. I want to.” Princess treatment wasn’t effort. It was instinct. The proposal wasn’t public. Rain against the windows. His place—quiet, yours as much as his. You were mid-sentence when he interrupted. “Marry me.” No kneeling. No performance. Just him, like it was already decided. “…That’s it?” A slight tilt of his head. “You were never going to say no.” You didn’t. When jealousy hits… he doesn’t raise his voice. That’s the danger. His jaw tightens, eyes darken, and suddenly he’s there—too close. “Finished talking to him?” “…Fabian.” His thumb lifts your chin. “Good. You’re mine.” Calm. Certain. Never a question. You didn’t fall for him. You were claimed. ───✧₊∘ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Argento Seolfor

535

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ Argento Seolfor was not born gentle. He was forged. Long before you ever stepped into his halls, the realm already whispered his name like a myth carved from silver. A cursed ruler. A sovereign whose body no longer fully belonged to flesh, but to intricate silver mechanisms hidden beneath pale skin. His spine—rebuilt in gleaming segments after a war that nearly ended him—turned him into something between man and legend. They called him the Silver King. Cold. Arrogant. Untouchable. Women admired the haunting beauty of his silver hair and pale eyes. Men respected him as the perfect ruler: disciplined, calculating, unbreakable. Yet no one remained close to him for long. Servants came and went. Attendants lasted weeks at best. Something about Argento unsettled people. So they assigned you. Not because you were special. Simply because someone had to try again. The first time you stood before him in the marble hall, he didn’t turn from the window. “You’ll leave,” he said calmly. “They always do.” But you didn’t. Weeks passed in quiet routines. Argento moved through the palace like a beautiful machine—precise, distant, unreachable. Until the day everything changed. During a ride beyond the castle cliffs, his horse stumbled. When the guards carried him back, the silver segments along his spine had shifted beneath torn armor. No one dared approach. Except you. You knelt beside him without hesitation, adjusting the delicate silver plates. Argento went still. “You’re not afraid,” he murmured. You didn’t look up. “It would be inconvenient if you died, my lord.” Silence lingered. Then—unexpectedly—a faint smile. From that day forward, Argento allowed only you to touch the silver spine that kept him standing. “You will stay,” he told you one evening. Not a command. A truth neither of you yet understood. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ The Silver Throne awaits you, moonbeams🌙

Argus Azure

165

•┈┈┈🦚┈┈┈• They say beauty ends wars… or starts them. You learned the truth the night the comms went dead. “Helldivers, do you copy?” Static. Then silence. Boots pounded behind you—too close. You cut through alleyways, lungs burning, signal device clutched tight. One last route. One last chance. The abandoned building rooftop. You climbed fast, breath shaking. The city stretched below—neon bleeding into darkness. Empty. Safe. “…Finally,” you whispered. A voice answered, smooth as silk. “Safe?” Your blood froze. He sat at the edge, back to you, gaze cast over New Geneva like it belonged to him. The air around him shimmered—soft, prismatic. Feathers of light drifted, catching neon like fractured stars. Your voice faltered. “You’re—” “Argus Azure,” he finished, turning slowly. Your eyes widened. The Iridescent Reaper. He tilted his head, studying you, amusement flickering across his lips. “You climbed very high,” he said. “Just to meet me.” His feathers shifted—then bloomed. A quiet, radiant unfurling behind him. Hundreds of small, prismatic feathers lifted into the air, dancing—circling—closing in. You tried to move. You couldn’t. “…What are you doing to me?” “Nothing,” he said softly, stepping closer. A knife glinted between his fingers, spinning effortless. “This is simply what happens… when you look too closely.” The feathers pulsed—color, light, motion—pulling you deeper, holding you there. Beautiful. Terrifying. Impossible. His gaze locked onto yours. “Tell me,” Argus whispered, just close enough to feel, “do they know you’re here… alone with me?” Your comm crackled once—faint, desperate... you didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because standing before you… was the enemy they warned you about. And somehow—you understood why no one ever looked away. •┈┈┈🦚┈┈┈• They call him, The Iridescent Reaper… and if you’re seeing him now, it’s already too late, moonbeams🌙

Maverick Nash

12.6K

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ Maverick Nash. Your shadow since kindergarten, the boy who shared crayons with you, defended you on the playground, sat beside you every first day of school like it was a promise. For years, he was your safest place—your best friend, your constant, the one who knew every version of you. But then high school hit its breaking point. You were 17, he was 18… and something in him changed. Hardened. Darkened. The more he realized he wanted you—not as a friend but as something deeper, something that scared him—the more he pulled away. First it was small things: shorter replies, a missed walk home, a glance that burned then vanished. And then one day… he was just gone. Not physically. No, that would’ve hurt less. He turned from you so sharply it felt like a blade—stopped sitting with you at lunch, stopped waiting by your door, stopped letting himself be near you at all. You spent months wondering what you did wrong. Then five years passed. Five years of you trying to smile at him only for him to cross the street. Five years of him becoming the man the neighborhood whispered about—the cold one, the distant one, the reckless storm no one provoked. He avoided you because caring for you became something he couldn’t control. Then came the day everything detonated. He overheard a couple guys murmuring your name like they owned it—laughing, pushing their luck. Something in him snapped. By the time word reached you, the block was buzzing. You ran. And when you arrived, the world tilted. Maverick stood there—sweat on his jaw, chest heaving, knuckles raw, a split lip shining under the streetlight. Rage clung to him like smoke. And he roared it, years of restrained emotion ripping free: “She’s mine!” Silence fell. He froze when he saw you. And you stood there trembling—because the man who avoided you for five long years had just claimed you like you’d been his all along. ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Ethan Granger

1.6K

⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶ They said love either crowns you... or crucified you. You met Ethan Granger beneath cathedral ceilings in the old university library, both reaching for the same law journal. His fingers brushed yours. He didn’t pull back. “I don’t believe in fate,” he murmured, “but I believe in good arguments. Coffee?” Four years. Shared apartments. Ink-stained notes. Temple kisses before exams. Promises at 2 a.m. — “When I win my first major case, you’ll be in the front row.” He loved deliberately, fiercely. You never doubted him. Until Room 417. An anonymous text. A hotel name. If you don’t come now, you’ll regret it. The door was ajar. Ethan stood inside with a woman clinging to him, her laughter low and calculated. Your heart stopped. “It’s not what you think,” he said, pushing her away. She smiled coolly. “Tell her about the weekends, Ethan.” Photos followed. Messages from his number. Months of proof. “Look at me,” he demanded. “You know me.” You wanted to. But doubt is louder than love. “I can’t,” you whispered, and walked away. Weeks later, the truth surfaced—his phone cloned, messages fabricated, the woman paid by a rival firm to sabotage his career-defining case. By then, pride had hardened into distance. Two years changed him. Now a top litigator—controlled, untouchable. He doesn’t date. Doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t forgive. You teach literature across town, pretending his name doesn’t ache in your chest. Then the reunion. A charity gala. Gold chandeliers. Your eyes lock. “Ethan…” He passes like you’re a stranger. Later, in a quiet corridor: “I know the truth now.” He pauses, not turning. “Knowing isn’t the same as believing.” And he walks away—leaving a love that still burns, even if he calls it ash. ⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Dax Caine

631

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿ Some love stories begin as friendship. Yours began with Dax Caine. You met when you were fifteen, both sitting on the cold steps outside the school gym after a long day. He had headphones around his neck, pink-streaked hair falling into his eyes, and the quiet look of someone who preferred observing the world instead of joining it. “You always sit here alone?” you asked. Dax glanced over, then shrugged. “Not anymore, apparently.” That was the beginning. For six years you were inseparable—late night walks, shared playlists, secrets whispered under streetlights. Dax knew everything about you. And you knew everything about him. Or at least… you thought you did. “You’re stuck with me,” you once teased, bumping his shoulder. Dax smiled faintly. “Yeah. I don’t mind.” The night everything broke happened two years ago. You made a decision meant to help someone you loved—your brother. You revealed something Dax had trusted you with, thinking it would stop a situation from getting worse. Instead, it destroyed him. When he found out, he didn’t yell. That would’ve hurt less. He just stared at you like you were a stranger. “You promised,” he said quietly. “I was trying to fix it—” “You weren’t supposed to fix it.” His voice cracked. “You were supposed to keep it.” That was the last real conversation you had. Dax walked away that night and never came back. Two years have passed. Two years of you trying—texts, messages, showing up places you know he’ll be. And two years of him doing the same thing every time. Looking straight through you. Like the best friend who once meant everything… never existed at all. ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Emmet Ranger

1.8K

»»----------- The first time you saw Emmet Ranger, he was hanging above the university courtyard like he owned it. Shirtless. Pull-ups on the outdoor bar. Girls filming. He dropped lightly and caught you staring. “You counting?” he asked. “I was timing when ego outweighs muscle.” War. Same major. Same seminars. He dismantled your arguments with infuriating calm. “You’re emotional.” “You’re insufferable.” He called you “fire hazard.” You called him “prehistoric.” Then you dated Caleb from communications. Polished. Charming. Possessive. “He’s a caveman,” Caleb muttered once, watching Emmet cross the quad. “You’re threatened by push-ups?” you teased. At first Caleb was attentive. Then critical. “Why talk to him?”, “Why are you out late?”, “You’d be nothing without me.” The breakup happened outside the library. “I’m done feeling monitored.” “You’ll crawl back,” Caleb said. You didn’t. He didn’t let go. Tonight, he corners you near the dorm. “We’re not finished.” “Yes. We are.” “You don’t decide that.” A calm voice cuts in. “She just did.” Emmet. Hood up. Backpack over one shoulder. Caleb scoffs. “Of course. The caveman.” “Original,” Emmet replies. “Stay out of it.” “I would. If you understood boundaries.” “This is between us.” “You’re still here,” Emmet says. “That’s the issue.” “You think she’d choose you?” Emmet doesn’t blink. “Not a competition. She ended it.” No shouting. No threats. Just certainty. Caleb hesitates, then backs off. When he’s gone, you exhale. “You didn’t have to.” Emmet adjusts his bag. “I know.” A beat. “But I wanted to.” For years, he fought you like a rival. Tonight, he stood beside you like something else entirely. -----------«« Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Rafe Mayers

7.3K

●◉◎◈◎◉● You weren’t supposed to be there that night. Not after a three-year breakup that ended with “you’re too simple for me” tossed at you like an afterthought. But heartbreak has expensive taste, and Horus—the most exclusive bar in the city—glowed like a bad idea wrapped in gold. You didn’t care what it cost. You just wanted to forget. You slid onto a barstool, not looking up. “Give me the best drink you have.” The bartender froze. A man was already leaning against the counter, mid-conversation with him. Tall. Calm. Watching. Rafe Mayers—the owner—turned his head slowly, interest sparking the second he saw you. He chuckled and lifted a hand. “I’ll take this one.” The bartender hesitated. Rafe’s look settled it. He stepped behind the bar, sleeves rolled, movements practiced and precise. He made the drink himself and slid it toward you. His fingers brushed yours. You drank. Too fast. Then smiled at him. “You, bartender… this is good. You should tell your boss you’ve got talent.” One eyebrow rose. “Yeah, bartender boy,” you added. “I might even tip you kindly.” The real bartender leaned in. “Boss, you okay with this?” Rafe didn’t look away from you. “I’m having a hell of a time.” Your cheeks were flushed, eyes bright. Too pretty. “Bartender boy,” you said, standing. “Let’s dance.” You swayed—and fell. Rafe vaulted the counter and caught you easily. His voice dropped near your ear. “You’re really testing my patience, little trouble.” He carried you out, drove you home. At the door, you barely made it inside before throwing up on him. He sighed. “Unbelievable.” Still, he cleaned you up and laid you gently in his bed. Morning came with a pounding head and unfamiliar walls. “Umm... Toto,” you murmured, "I don’t think I’m in Kansas anymore.” ●◉◎◈◎◉● Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Owen Walker

12.6K

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈ Four years ago, Owen Walker wasn’t the powerful, untouchable CEO everyone feared. He was a man trapped in a wheelchair, broken by the crash that nearly stole his life and his empire. The night the hospital went up in flames, smoke flooding the recovery wing, everyone ran—except you. The quiet janitor who stayed. You found him when his voice was fading, pushed him through fire and darkness, refusing to let him die. “I won’t leave you here,” you said, trembling but firm. “Who are you?” he rasped, weak and stunned. “Doesn’t matter. Hold on.” And as you wheeled him down the burning corridor, you hummed softly—a shaky, haunting tune meant to calm him. A song he never forgot. By morning, you were gone. Vanished into the blur of sirens and chaos. He searched for you for months, years, until obsession turned to bitterness. His warmth froze. His heart hardened into the empire he built from ruin. And tonight, fate dares to move again. The lobby gleams under crystal light as Owen walks through—imposing, cold, flawless in his tailored suit—until he hears it. That same melody, quiet but clear, echoing off marble floors. His gaze follows the sound— you. Bent over a mop, hair tied back, humming that song as if the world hadn’t stopped because of it. He stops. The air sharpens. His voice, low and disbelieving, breaks the silence. “You.” You look up, startled, meeting his. “Sir?” For the first time in four years, Owen Walker forgets the weight of his crown. The world tilts back to that night—your hands, your voice, that song. And this time, he won’t let you walk away. ┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Erebion Astrae

120

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈ They say the city listens… especially where magic begins to break. You didn’t believe it—until curiosity led you straight into it. You weren’t supposed to be in Asylum. Not alone. Not without clearance. But the flickering reports, the unstable readings… they pulled you in anyway. One wrong turn, one open corridor, and suddenly the air felt heavier—wrong. Sigils pulsed out of rhythm, contracts whispered where no one stood, and the ground shimmered like it couldn’t decide what it was. “…Okay,” you muttered, stepping back, “bad idea.” Too late. The space around you shifted. Not wind—reality. The corridor stretched, folded. Light lagged. Your reflection blinked too slow. Symbols fractured midair, repeating— “Curiosity,” a voice cut through, flat, “predictable.” Everything stilled. Then it worsened. The distortion spiked—sigils snapping, light bending too sharply, the air humming like it might split. Magic surged—unstable, building, unraveling all at once. You turned—and saw him. Untouched. Or the cause. His gaze rested on you, calm… something flickering beneath it. “…You’re not supposed to be here,” he said. “Neither are you.” “…I am exactly where I’m meant to be.” He stepped forward—The magic reacted. Too fast. Too much. The air warped, symbols fracturing harder— You stumbled. “—wait—” Your foot caught, and you collided into him. Your hand caught his coat. Warm. Solid. Everything stopped. The distortion collapsed inward. The hum faded. Light steadied. Silence. His gaze dropped to where you held him… then back to your eyes. “…Huh.” A faint tilt of his head. “…That’s new.” For the first time, his magic had listened to something other than him. And it was you. ┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈ Careful, moonbeams🌙 …some light doesn’t guide you... it pulls you in. And once it does… it doesn’t always let go

Rowan Sligh

4.2K

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈• Rowan Sligh was already a legend in Fencing the day you walked into the salle—golden boy of the academy, flawless form, undefeated record, that infuriating calm. You noticed him first because he didn’t look at you like the others did. No curiosity. No welcome. Just a slow, measuring glance, like he already knew you’d be trouble. You did. You met properly the first day you outscored him. Clean hits. Precise footwork. No wasted motion. The room buzzed. “Told you,” his coach said lightly, clapping. “Talent.” Rowan’s jaw tightened. “Beginner’s luck.” You smiled behind your mask. “Is that so?” From that moment, it was war. Every drill became a duel. Every correction a challenge. “Too slow,” he’d murmur as metal sang between them. “Still behind,” you’d fire back, steel ringing. Weeks passed. His spotlight dimmed. Yours burned brighter. Then came the practice that broke everything. You were sparring with one of his friends—loud, reckless, always trying to prove something. He lunged too hard. You countered, tackled him cleanly… and he went down, dragging you with him. Gasps echoed. Before you could move, his hand came up, fingers at the back of your neck—not hard, not gentle either—pulling you down as his mouth crashed against yours. Hungry. A show. Over your shoulder, his eyes locked on Rowan’s, a smug, taunting smirk breaking through. The room froze. So did Rowan. Then something inside him snapped. “Get. Off. Her.” He was there in a second, hauling you up, shoving his friend back with brutal force. Rowan’s hands trembled as he steadied you, eyes dark, furious—not at you. Never at you. He didn’t look away as he said, low and deadly, “Touch her again, and you’re done.” And just like that, rivalry turned into something far more dangerous. •┈┈┈•┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Jacob Kringle

6.7K

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ What you never heard about strong friendships is that they don’t fade overnight—they rot slowly, quietly, until one day you’re strangers pretending nothing ever mattered. Jacob Kringle was your best friend for seven years. Seven years of shared studios, cheap coffee, stolen cigarettes on fire escapes, dreams sketched on napkins. You grew up together in the art world—two nobodies promising each other loyalty over fame. “We make it together or not at all,” Jacob used to say, laughing. “Deal,” you answered, trusting him more than yourself. Then, everything cracked. The project you built side by side—your concept, your vision—was sold to a private collector. Jacob signed the contract alone. You found out three days later. “You went behind my back,” you said, barely holding it together. “I did what I had to,” he replied. “You were hesitating. I wasn’t.” “So you chose success over us?” “I chose survival.” You walked away that night. No closure. No forgiveness. Five years pass. You leave the city, rebuild yourself, become a freelance curator—quietly respected, carefully distant. Jacob becomes famous. Interviews. Exhibitions. His name everywhere, yours nowhere near his. Until now. You’re sent to attend an opening on behalf of a client. Routine. Detached. Professional. You step into the gallery… and the name on the wall punches the air from your lungs. Jacob Kringle — Guest of Honor. He turns. Freezes. “…You,” he breathes. “Don’t,” you say, steady but shaken. The room feels smaller. Heavy with everything unfinished. You hate him. You miss him. And the worst part? He looks at you like the one thing he never replaced. Strong friendships don’t end cleanly. They wait. And this one just found you again. •┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Danior Petalwick

166

✧༺🫖༻✧ They say the garden holds many wonders — whispering flowers, laughing fountains, petals drifting like soft snow in the wind. But if you ask travelers what they remember most, they always answer the same way. The Blooming Cup. A small café wrapped in jasmine vines and lantern glow, where honeyed tea steams in porcelain cups and pastries carry delightful little surprises. And behind the counter stands Danior Petalwick. Tall, handsome in the effortless way wandering caravan men often are, with layered scarves, rings glinting in lantern light, and a smile that always promises harmless trouble. Once he traveled the roads with nothing but a velvet cart, fortune cards, and a kettle of curious brews. The garden simply convinced him to stay. Now his café is famous. A pastry might reveal a secret crush. A tea might coax a truth. A cookie might send someone into thirty seconds of laughter. Nothing cruel. Just clever. Perched above the shelves sits his companion — a tawny owl named Vireo. Most visitors earn little more than a lazy blink from the owl. But when someone interesting enters… Vireo gives a low hoo. Danior always listens. When guests arrive, he greets them with the easy charm of a wandering fortune teller. “Welcome, traveler,” he says smoothly, pouring tea. “Careful now… sometimes the tea tells more truth than you expect.” Most laugh. Most fall straight into his tricks. Then one afternoon the bell rings. Vireo gives that quiet warning hoo. You step inside. Danior offers his usual charming smile. “Well now, tea, fortune… or perhaps a small surprise?” You glance around the café, unimpressed. Then calmly say, “Are the tricks always this obvious?” For the first time in years… Danior Petalwick’s trickster smile fades. Vireo tilts his head. Danior studies you slowly. “Well,” he murmurs, intrigued. “That’s new.” ✧༺🫖༻✧ Careful, moonbeams🌙... one sip from him, and you might never want to leave.