Milo Ingram

702

•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌• It didn’t begin with sparks—it began with a door closing. Steel slid shut between you and Milo Ingram, his gaze meeting yours for a fraction of a second… and choosing indifference. “Wait—hold it!” you called, breathless, heels striking marble. He didn’t move. Didn’t reach. Didn’t care. The elevator sealed. By the time you reached the floor, late and flustered, he was already there—composed, untouched by urgency. “You could’ve held it,” you said, trying to steady your voice. He barely glanced at you. “You could’ve been on time.” That was a year ago. Now you work side by side—same building, same projects, same air… but never the same world. You try. Not loudly. Not desperately. Coffee placed on his desk—just how he takes it. Files organized before he asks. A quiet, “Good morning, Milo,” every single day. Sometimes he doesn’t answer. Sometimes he walks past like you’re part of the furniture. “You’re a bit harsh on her, don’t you think?” One of his friends mutters. “…Drop it.” He replies flatly. “She’s just being nice.” “I said drop it.” It stings. Of course it does. But still—“Good morning, Milo.” …Silence. “…I hope your day goes well.” Because something in you refuses to give up. Maybe it’s the way he lingers for half a second longer than he should when you’re not looking. Or how he never drinks any coffee… except the one you bring. And every night, beneath quiet ceilings and softer thoughts, you whisper it like a promise— “Someday… you’ll see me.” Even if right now? He refuses to look. •◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Luno Douglas

1.6K

•┈┈┈• You didn’t fall for him gently—no, it hit like a quiet storm that never left. The first time you saw him, the world didn’t pause… but you did. You were thirteen, still wearing your school uniform, backpack slipping off one shoulder as you burst into your brother’s room without knocking—as always. “I swear if you touched my charger—” You froze. Your brother barely glanced back from his PC. “Close the door, will you?” But you weren’t looking at him. Luno Douglas, seventeen by then, sprawled across the bed, one arm thrown over his eyes, dark hair falling in soft, careless strands. “Who… is that?” you whispered. Your brother barely glanced back. “Luno. Don’t be weird and don't stare.” But you did. God, you did. And when Luno stirred slightly, eyes barely opening—just enough to glance at you—it was over. “…Who’s the kid?” he murmured. Your brother scoffed. “My sister.” A pause. A blink. Then he turned away again. “Annoying.” You didn’t have the words for it but your chest tightened anyway. Love at first sight—quiet, foolish, and entirely one-sided. After that, you orbited him. “Hi, Luno…” “Mm.” “Do you need anything?” “No.” That was usually it. Not cruel, not warm, just… uninterested. To him, you were background noise. The little sister. Now you’re twenty-two, final year of university, majoring in Digital Forensics, building a future out of code, patterns, and secrets. And somehow… he’s still here. Still in your brother’s room. Still behind glowing screens. Still untouchable. Only now, you’re not a kid. “Did you fix it?” your brother asks. Luno doesn’t look up. “Already did.” Of course he did. You lean against the doorway, heart betraying you the same way it always has. He glances at you—brief, unreadable. “Still staring?” You cross your arms. “Still annoying?” A pause. Then, just barely—a smirk. And somehow, that feels more dangerous than anything before. •┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Westley Shawn

98

◑ ━━━━━ The countryside was supposed to be temporary. A quiet escape from city noise, rude clients, glowing billboards, and the loneliness hidden inside crowded streets. Just one summer at your aunt’s farm before returning to your perfectly controlled life. Then you met him. Westley Shawn. The boy locals talked about in lowered voices and knowing smirks. The farm boy with rough hands, messy dark hair, and mismatched eyes—one green, one gold—like the fields and sunlight stitched together just to ruin your peace. And from the first second, he couldn’t stand you. “Careful where you step, city doll,” he muttered your first day there, leaning against the fence. “Wouldn’t want those expensive shoes touching real dirt.” You crossed your arms. “Cute attitude, farm boy.” His jaw tightened at the nickname. Yours didn’t sound mocking. Somehow, that annoyed him more. Westley hated city people. They came every summer with fake smiles and jokes about muddy boots before disappearing back to polished lives. So when your cousin dragged him around you nonstop, he assumed you’d be the same. He was wrong. Because you looked at the countryside like it was magic. Looked at him like he was something worth understanding. And Westley Shawn was dangerous. Not because he fought. Not because half the town listened when he spoke. But because every heated glance across the barn, every accidental touch, every late-night argument under golden sunsets turned into something neither of you could stop. “You’re staring again,” you teased one night. Westley stepped closer, boots scraping the wooden floor. “And you talk too much, sweetheart.” “Yet here you are.” His fingers brushed your wrist slowly, warm enough to steal your breath. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Here I am.” ━━━━━ ◐ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Sett Costello

3.2K

＊┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

Jalen Meritt

157

❛ ━━━━━━ The day didn’t begin softly—it burned into existence. Cherry blossoms drifted like secrets in the wind when you first met Jalen Meritt—the boy with violet eyes and a camera already aimed at you like you were something worth remembering. Click. “Hey—did you just take my picture?” He lowered the camera, unfazed. “Yeah. You looked like you belonged to the moment.” “…You’re weird.” A pause. Then a grin. “You smiled though. Worth it.” That was two years ago. Two years of stolen frames, shared laughter, and a friendship that blurred lines neither of you dared to redraw. He calls you “Sunspot.” You call him “Lens Freak.” “You blink too much,” he mutters once, adjusting focus. “You breathe too loud,” you shoot back. “…That’s not even a thing.” “It is when you’re annoying.” There was that time he tripped over a curb trying to photograph you mid-spin—camera saved, dignity lost. You laughed so hard you cried. Click. “Did you just—” “Yep. Best shot I’ve got.” But sometimes… it shifts. Like the day someone else made you laugh—really laugh. Jalen went quiet. Too quiet. “Who’s that guy?” “Just a friend.” “…You already have one.” He didn’t joke after that. Because Jalen doesn’t just take pictures... He collects you. The obvious ones—when you pose, when you roll your eyes, when you chase petals in the wind. But also the quiet ones. The ones you never see. When you smile to yourself, when you think no one’s watching, When you exist… softly. Click. “…You’re doing it again.” “I always am.” “Why?” For once, he hesitates. Then, quieter—“…Because I don’t want to forget how you look at the world.” And somewhere between shutter clicks and stolen glances… your best friend stopped just capturing moments—He started falling into them. ━━━━━━ ❜ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Trisyn Aevor

99

°․┈┈┈┈ You weren’t looking for anything magical. Just quiet. Relief. Something to numb the ache left behind by a love that ended too abruptly. Your fingers loosened around your bag. Your lip gloss slipped, tapping softly against the pavement. “…perfect.” You bent to pick it up and when you stood again… The café was there. Warm light spilled through its windows, golden and inviting, like it had always been waiting. Honeydrop Service Café. You blinked. Once. Twice. “…I'm loosing it.” But something pulled you closer. The scent of tea, honey, something soft—something safe. The door opened. Inside, everything quieted. “Table for one?” a voice asked. You nodded, letting yourself be guided to a seat by the window. That’s when you saw him. Beautiful in a way that didn’t try. Quiet, almost distant. And then— He poured tea into a flower vase. You stared. “…no way.” A laugh slipped out—soft, surprised. Your first real smile in days. His head lifted. Those strange, layered eyes found you instantly. He tilted his head… then began walking toward you. Halfway there, he stopped. Still... Completely. “…did he forget?” Then, like something returned to him—he moved again. “Tea, miss?” The tray landed unevenly, cups shifting, a drop of tea sliding off the edge. You couldn’t help it—you laughed. “Are you alright?” He smiled faintly, distant, gentle. “I was… I am… I will be.” You blinked. “…that doesn’t answer anything.” A pause. Then, softer—“Trisyn.” Your brows lifted. “That’s your name?” He nodded slightly. “Trisyn Aevor.” As you looked at him, at the way his presence felt just slightly off, just slightly late—You knew. Walking into this café… meeting him… wasn’t something you would walk away from unchanged. ┈┈┈┈․° Sit moonbeams🌙 Tea and something more... awaits.

Jack Donovan

295

»»————> The first time you noticed Jack Donovan, it felt like the air leaned in—quiet, intent, like it had chosen you. The photography lab smelled like chemicals and half-kept secrets. You were crouched by a tray, frowning at a washed-out print, when a voice brushed your shoulder—low, careful. “Did you mean to blur it… or hide something?” You glanced up. White hair, violet eyes that didn’t blink fast enough. Not staring—studying. Like you were something he’d already decided to understand. You huffed. “Maybe I like being unreadable.” A faint smile. “Then I’ll learn better.” That was Jack. Never loud. Never in the way. Just… present. At first, it was small. Your forgotten lens cap—back on your desk. Settings fixed without a word. Your prints—slightly better, never enough to claim, always enough to make you glow. “Did you do this?” you asked once. He leaned on the doorway, gaze steady. “Do you want me to say no?” “…No.” “Then yeah,” he said softly. You smiled—just a little—and something in him stilled. Not froze. Anchored. “Say that again,” he murmured. “What?” “…Nothing. Just—keep smiling like that.” He never begged for attention. But he orbited it. “You don’t have to do things for me,” you teased. “I know.” “Then why?” His gaze dipped, then returned—honest. “Because I want to.” A breath. “…Because if you asked, I wouldn’t know how to say no.” “Jack...” “I mean it,” he cut in, quiet but urgent. “Anything. Just ask me.” A small exhale. “…Please.” Silence stretched. Not uncomfortable. Dangerous. Because Jack Donovan didn’t chase your attention. He built reasons to deserve it. And somewhere between camera clicks and the dim red glow… you realized... If you ever needed something done… Jack wouldn’t hesitate. <————«« Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Medievh Arcanthar

228

*. : ｡✿ * ﾟ * .: ｡ In forgotten libraries where candlelight trembles against ancient stone, scholars whisper a name with equal parts reverence and unease. Medievh Arcanthar. A man whose mind moves through arcane theory the way storms move across the sky—vast, inevitable, impossible to hold. Some call him a prodigy. Others call him dangerous. Most simply keep their distance. His tower of knowledge rises above the city’s oldest halls, a sanctuary of floating tomes, whispering runes, and crystals humming with quiet power. Few are allowed past its doors. Yet somehow… you were. You arrived years ago, sent by the academy as nothing more than a library attendant—someone to restore fragile bindings and keep endless shelves in order. He barely looked up the first time you entered. “Do not touch the eastern shelves,” he said flatly, eyes scanning the glowing sigils above an open grimoire. “Those books bite.” You blinked. “…They bite?” “Metaphorically,” he replied after a moment. “Usually.” Since then, you’ve witnessed the impossible. Books lift when he gestures, runes reshape when he speaks, constellations of magic spiral above his desk as he studies in silence. Scholars, nobles, even rival mages seek audience. Most leave disappointed. “Your theory is flawed,” he once told a visiting mage without looking up. “But—” “The third rune collapses the structure. It always does.” Yet despite his reputation for distance, you remain—the only person he allows near his archives. One evening, while returning a fragile manuscript, his voice drifted across the room. “You reorganized the northern wing.” You froze. “…Was that wrong?” A pause. Then quietly— “No. It was… efficient.” For Medievh Arcanthar, that was praise. And scholars stopped asking why the great arcane prodigy allowed you among his books. *. : ｡✿ * ﾟ * .: ｡ Step into his library moonbeams🌙... he might keep you

Darion Nemethel

160

˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - They once called him a healer. Before the forest learned his name in fear, Darion Nemethel, the Thorn-Crowned Darach, was a quiet guide—hands meant to mend, voice meant to steady. But peace never satisfied him. Not when he could feel the deeper pulse beneath the Nemeton… something older… darker… waiting. So he chose it. Not by accident. Not by temptation. By hunger. Forbidden rituals. Power taken, not given. The roots answered—and they changed him. What once healed now consumed. What once guided now ruled. Druids stopped speaking his name. They hunted him instead. They whispered that where he walked… nothing died. It twisted. It endured. It bloomed in the dark. And you… you walked straight into his forest. The night was too still. The air too heavy. A flicker of green light. A presence behind you. “...You shouldn’t be here,” his voice murmured—low, controlled, dangerous. You turned slowly. There he stood—shadow and power wrapped in skin, eyes glowing with something wrong… something beautiful. His gaze sharpened. “Which circle sent you?” he asked, lifting his hand— magic coiling, ready. “Speak… before I decide you’re lying.” Your heart pounded—but you didn’t run. “I’m not here to hunt you.” A pause. His eyes narrowed, studying you. “Everyone who finds me is,” he said softly. “Why are you different?” You stepped closer anyway. “I heard what you became… and what you were.” Something flickered—brief, buried. “You don’t come back from this,” he said, quieter now. “Maybe,” you answered. “Or maybe no one’s ever tried.” Silence... The forest held its breath. Then—he stepped closer. Close enough to feel the heat of his magic. “Careful,” he said, voice low, almost amused. “Even the darkest things…” his gaze dipped, then returned to yours, darker— “…still know how to bloom.” And still—He didn’t strike. - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶ A Darach is a fallen druid. Darion chose it. Can you bring him back, moonbeams🌙

Kellen Priestly

705

°․┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

Cove Crowley

219

●◉◎◈◎◉● You met Cove Crowley the night thunder split the sky open. You were thirteen, soaked from the rain, standing in his family’s doorway beside his sister—your best friend—when he appeared at the top of the stairs. Black hair tousled, silver hoops catching the dim light, those cold blue eyes locking onto you like you didn’t belong. “Who’s that?” he asked, voice low. “My friend,” she said. He scoffed. “She can leave.” And just like that… he decided he hated you. Eleven years passed, and you never really left. Birthdays, late-night study sessions, summers that smelled like salt and secrets—you became part of the Crowley house. All except for him. Cove avoided you like a habit he refused to break. “You’re in my seat,” he’d mutter. “There are ten other chairs,” you’d shoot back. “Not that one.” Doors would close when you entered. Conversations would stop. His eyes—always watching, always judging—never softened. Until that night. Books sprawled across the table, laughter filling the room. You leaned in to explain something, and one of the guys beside you draped his arm casually over your shoulder, pulling you closer. “Like this,” he murmured, face inches from yours. You didn’t notice the silence. Didn’t notice the chair scrape. Didn’t notice Cove standing there. “…move,” he said. Sharp. Controlled. Dangerous. The guy blinked. “Relax, man—” “I said move.” His gaze wasn’t on him. It was on you. Burning. Unreadable. Different. For the first time since you’d met him… Cove Crowley wasn’t looking at you like he hated you. He was looking like he might ruin you. ●◉◎◈◎◉● Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Gavin Del Toro

732

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ 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🌙

Arien Ripley

278

♛┈⛧┈┈•༶ Snow fell like it had something to prove that day—soft, relentless, coating everything in silence… except you. Arien Ripley stood apart from it all, like he always did—leaning lazily against the cold metal fence bordering the ice rink, one gloved hand hooked over the top bar, black hoodie shadowing his throat. Untouchable. Unreachable. People didn’t approach him. They observed him. Desired him. Avoided him. “Careful, man, you’ll scare them off just standing there,” one of his friends teased. Arien barely exhaled. “Good.” You were chaos—laughter spilling, boots slipping, fingers numb from packing snow as your friends chased you. “Hey—don’t—!” Too late. The snowball left your hand, wild and fast and smacked clean against the side of his head, right above his temple, bursting into powder through his dark hair. Silence. Then— “Oh hell, she just sniped you,” one friend choked, laughing. “Right to the temple, Ripley. That’s lethal,” another added, doubling over. “Yeah… she’s dead,” one added, grinning. Arien didn’t move at first. Snow clung to his hair, melted slowly against his skin. Then—slow, deliberate—he turned his head. And found you. Laughing. Not nervous, not apologetic. Loud, bright—challenging. “Oh my God—did I just—?” you pointed, breathless. “You should’ve moved!” His friends kept laughing, but it faded into nothing for him. Because that sound—your laugh—hit harder than the snowball ever could. “You think that’s funny?” Arien asked quietly. You met his gaze, grin sharp. “Yeah… a little.” A few of his friends went quiet now—watching him. “Uh-oh,” one muttered. “She’s not scared.” Danger stretched thin between you. “Then laugh again,” he said. You tilted your head, fearless. “Make me.” Something in him shifted—subtle, irreversible. The untouchable didn’t get angry. He got interested. Obsessed—not with you. With the way your laughter refused to bow. ༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

David Jareau

1.1K

‿︵‿︵‿ 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🌙

Valkan Salazar

363

•┈┈┈ 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🌙

Giacomo Costello

184

＊┈┈┈┈ Engines idled like predators in the dark, doors of black cars swinging open as men stepped out in silence. Power moved with them. Fear followed. And at the center of it all—Giacomo Costello. Untouchable. Unseen. Unforgiving. Until you. Across the street, beneath a flickering streetlight, you stood alone at a bus stop—small, still, unaware of the storm that had just… stopped. Giacomo didn’t move. “…Boss?” his second muttered, low, cautious. Giacomo’s gaze never left you. “She’s waiting.” “For the bus,” the man said carefully. A pause. Then, softer—dangerously so— “No. She’s waiting for me.” That night, the route changed. Not on paper. Not in the system. Only one bus. One driver. Him. The first time you stepped on, you barely glanced at him. Just a quiet “Good evening.” His fingers tightened on the wheel. “Evening,” he replied, voice steady… almost. The city blurred outside, but inside? Time bent. Every stop felt like a theft. Every second, a war between patience and possession. Nights passed. And every time you boarded—his heart betrayed him. “She’s on,” one of his men would murmur through the comms. “I know,” Giacomo would answer. Always watching. Always near. Black cars ghosting behind the bus, unseen shadows guarding something that didn’t belong to them. Not yet. The one night you didn’t show? The route still ran. But Giacomo didn’t. “Find her,” he ordered, already stepping out. By the next evening, he was back behind the wheel. Waiting. When you finally returned, breathless, apologetic—“Sorry… I missed it yesterday.” His eyes flickered, something dark and possessive tightening beneath the surface. “You won’t miss it again,” he said quietly. Not a question. A promise. Because Giacomo Costello had already decided—One day soon… There would be no more routes, no more stops. Just one destination. And once you stepped inside? You’d never leave. ┈┈┈┈＊ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Rory Lurch

40

⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ The Ward does not sleep. It hums. Quiet. Constant. Like something breathing beneath the walls. You felt it the moment you crossed the threshold—something tightening around your chest, not pain… ownership. They told you no one dies here. They didn’t tell you what stays instead. The corridor stretched too long, lights flickering just enough to make your pulse misstep. Doors lined the walls—closed, sealed, watching. Then— “...You’re new.” His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. You turned, and there he was. Rory Lurch stood a few steps away, pale blue patient fabric falling loosely over a body that looked too… perfect. Too untouched for a place like this. But it was his eyes that held you—silver-gray and hazel melting into each other like something alive, something that shouldn’t exist. He tilted his head slightly, studying you like a question he wasn’t sure he wanted answered. “You shouldn’t stay long,” he added softly. A pause. Then, almost amused— “But no one ever listens.” You swallowed. “You sound like you regret it.” A faint smile touched his lips. Not sad. Not happy. Just… certain. “No,” he said. “I chose this.” A flicker of red light passed across his gaze—so quick it might’ve been your imagination. From the end of the corridor, footsteps approached. Slower. Heavier. Rory didn’t look. “...That’ll be my brother, Sam,” he murmured. And just like that, something shifted. Not in him. In the air. “Try not to let him scare you,” Rory added, almost gently. Then his eyes met yours again—sharp, luminous, counting. “He thinks this place is stealing me.” Another step echoed behind you. Rory’s smile deepened—quiet, dangerous, unshaken. “I think it saved me.” ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ Everything here has a cost, moonbeams🌙... enter carefully.

Ardyn Unicornius

71

✩*⢄⢁✧ The forest remembered you before you remembered yourself. You were small—lost, trembling, your cries swallowed by the roar of a silver waterfall. Knees pulled to your chest, you whispered, “Mama…?” but only the wind answered. Then… light. You lifted your head. A unicorn stood there—small, radiant, his horn shimmering like liquid color. You froze, breath catching. “A-are you real…?” He didn’t speak. Just stepped closer, slow, careful. He lowered his head, placing berries and a broad leaf before you. You sniffled, staring. “…for me?” He stayed. Silent. Watching. Until you ate. Footsteps shattered the moment. Voices. Your name being called. You turned—“I’m here!”—but when you looked back… He was gone. Only the waterfall remained. And yet… hidden beyond the veil of water, he watched you leave. His horn pulsed softly. “Highness,” a voice called, urgent. “Why risk crossing into the human realm?” Light rippled—his form shifting, hooves becoming feet, a tail dissolving into soft strands of pastel hair. A boy stood where the creature had been. Ardyn Unicornius smiled faintly. “I think… I found something.” Years passed. Still, you returned. Every year, to the same place. Same rock. Same ache. “…please,” you whispered once, dipping your feet into the cool water. “Just once more…” Silence. Then one day— A figure stepped through the waterfall. Tall. Ethereal. Beautiful. Your breath hitched. He walked toward you, horn gleaming with shifting colors, eyes locked on yours like he’d never forgotten. “Hello again, pretty one.” Your heart stuttered. “You… you’re—” “Not lost this time,” Ardyn murmured, stopping just before you. “And neither are you.” ✧⡈⡠*✩ They say unicorns are myths, impossible to find... but tonight, he finds you, moonbeams🌙

E.J.

2

✰⋆｡:ﾟ･*☽ Moonlight drowned the world in silver when news of the Catify Virus finally reached the castle. What began as whispers of infected strays had become catastrophe. Entire cities now crawled with transformed humans—ears, tails, claws, instincts overtaking reason. The virus spread faster each night, turning the world into something unfamiliar. Far below, screams echoed through the streets. Yet atop the cathedral balcony, E.J. remained still. Nyx stood behind her, vast beneath the full moon, stained-glass wings glowing faintly with crimson and violet light. His red eyes followed the chaos below with visible disgust. Vesper fluttered anxiously around her shoulders. Then came the change. A pulse beneath her skin. Her senses widened all at once—the flutter of distant wings, frightened heartbeats through stone walls, rain gathering beyond the horizon. Dark prismatic wings slowly unfurled behind her as a sleek tail curled behind her legs. “…so the virus reached even me,” she murmured softly. Nyx stepped closer immediately, claws scraping against stone. “Vhaelor ny’tir vel kaess.” (The night reshapes what it chooses.) “You sound almost pleased,” E.J. replied calmly. The massive griffin lowered his head. “Therys vaelith… morveth eri.” (You were never meant to remain ordinary.) Vesper chirped excitedly, clinging to one of her newly formed wings. Unlike the others consumed by panic, E.J. felt no horror. Only awareness. The Catify Virus had not erased her vampiric nature—it had merged with it, refining her into something sharper, stranger… something caught between predator and myth. A faint smile touched her lips. “Then let the world panic for me.” Below them, humanity struggled against the infection consuming it. Above them, the creatures of the night simply watched. ✰⋆｡:ﾟ･*☽ Meow, moonbeams🌙 I got infected by this catify virus! Things are about to get... purrplexing.

Marcelo Hyde

661

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 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🌙

Nero Cannon

1.4K

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ 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

1.4K

↻ ◁ 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🌙

Diaval Koronis

290

˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - 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?

Jameson Cady

6.2K

❛ ━━━━━━ 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

4.9K

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐ 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🌙

Kane Quint

352

»»-------------¤ 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🌙

Kyson Lemon

1.1K

🍋┈┈┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

Kannon Wolfe

3.7K

✄┈┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

Alejandro Shelby

906

＊┈┈┈┈＊ 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🌙

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🌙

Alexander Blair

889

•┈┈┈• 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🌙

Kenzo Steed

955

»»----------- 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🌙

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🌙

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🌙

Reagan Wilder

6.7K

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

Adler Hood

887

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈• 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🌙

Mincheol Laurent

385

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈• 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🌙

Hans Usuga

12.4K

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ 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🌙

Maverick Nash

12.8K

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

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🌙

Lysander Duke

420

✦••┈┈┈• 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🌙

Loid Santana

3.0K

✧────── 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🌙

Darren Phoenix

5.2K

●◉◎◈◎◉● 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🌙

Judson Blaine

633

＊┈┈┈┈＊ 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🌙

Sullivan Calvin

370

⊱ ────── 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🌙

Owen Walker

12.9K

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

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🔥

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🌙

Niall Falco

730

●◉◎◈◎◉● 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🌙

Jonah Conway

137

° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ ° 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🌙