Luther Austen

881

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - High school crushes were supposed to be harmless. Brief. Forgettable. Yours never was. Luther Austen didn’t flirt or perform. He didn’t have to. He moved through the halls with quiet certainty—sharp mind, steady presence—the kind of composure that made teachers trust him and classmates circle closer. You noticed the small things. The way he pushed his sleeves up when thinking. The way his voice softened only when he spoke to you. You never mistook it for affection. You learned how to want without reaching. For you, he was the crush. For him, you were the nice, safe classmate. You never confessed. You watched him grow—ambition sharpening, life opening doors—while you learned how to swallow longing without choking on it. Graduation came. You told yourself distance would erase everything. It didn’t. Years later, he’s powerful now: tailored suits, measured silences, a fiancée chosen for balance and image. Never love. You’re here tonight because plans changed—because you were convenient, because he trusted you not to complicate things. You’re heading for the balcony when he stops you in the hallway instead. Warm light spills over marble and restraint. He steps in front of you, close enough that you have to stop. One hand lifts, planting against the wall beside your head. Then the other—boxing you in without ever touching you. Not a grab. A cage. “Why do you look like you’re about to disappear?” he asks quietly. You lift your chin. “Because I always did.” Something fractures—not memory, but recognition. You were never invisible. You were simply the one thing he never allowed himself to want. The kiss comes not from impulse, but surrender. Years of discipline breaking open in a single, heated breath. Controlled. Intentional. Devastating. When his forehead rests against yours, breath uneven, you both know— This isn’t a beginning. It’s the point of no return. - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Jacob Kringle

2.1K

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ 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🌙

Lorenzo Dávila

3.8K

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ What you knew about arranged marriages was that they were cold, calculated, loveless transactions—names signed, hands shaken, lives ruined politely. Yeah? You didn’t know they could feel like a loaded gun pressed to your spine. Lorenzo Dávila learned his fate at 30,000 feet, mid-flight to close a hostile takeover. One message. One name. Yours. He laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. “You’ve got to be joking… her?” The youngest CEO in the room, crowned at twenty-eight after burying vultures twice his age when his father collapsed, Lorenzo was power wrapped in silk and teeth. Discipline. Control. No mercy. Especially not for you. You’d been enemies since adolescence—academic rivals, public humiliations, corporate sabotage disguised as coincidence. “You always needed to crush me,” you once hissed. He leaned in, eyes cold. “No. I needed you to stop standing in my way.” The arrangement meeting is suffocating—mahogany table, champagne untouched. You walk in, composed, lethal, beautiful. His eyes lift… linger. A mistake. Heat coils anyway. “So,” you say coolly, “this is where dignity comes to die.” He smiles slow. “Careful, darling. I look good at funerals.” Then his cousin moves in—too close. His fingers don’t just brush your wrist, they linger, thumb circling like he owns the right. “Such a waste,” he murmurs near your ear. “Bound to the wrong Dávila. I could show you what power actually feels like.” The scrape of a chair lands like a threat. Lorenzo rises. He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t rush. That’s the frightening part. “You’ve got three seconds,” he says mildly, smiling without warmth, “to remove your hand from what’s mine.” A pause. His eyes darken, locking on his cousin. “After that… I stop being family.” The room freezes. Your pulse trips. And Lorenzo? Never once looks away from you. •┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Louis Gray

2.0K

•┈┈┈••✦••┈┈┈• What you knew about heartbreaks was that they didn’t always come loud. Sometimes they wore silk suits, cold eyes, and your name said like a curse. Louis Gray had been your college sweetheart—your first real love. He loved you recklessly, openly, like the world couldn’t touch you. But the world did. Status. Money. And Echelon Gray Industries, the empire he was born to inherit. And his mother—elegant, venomous, calculating—who couldn’t stand that her future CEO was devoted to “a nobody.” The day everything shattered, you were visiting him at the mansion. She cornered you near the staircase, voice low and sharp. “Leave my son,” she said, pressing an envelope into your chest. “I’ll make you comfortable.” “I don’t want your money,” you snapped. “I love him.” Footsteps echoed. She smiled. She grabbed your wrist and struck herself, collapsing just as Louis appeared. “What the hell did you do?” he demanded, eyes wild. His mother sobbed, “She asked for money… and when I refused, she hit me.” He never listened. He never asked. “We’re done,” he said, voice breaking. “Get out.” So you did. Three years passed. He became a cold, untouchable CEO. You became a nurse—steady hands, a fractured heart. You never forgot him. Then came the reunion. You arrived glowing, nervous, stunning. You laughed. You relaxed. Maybe he won’t come. Gasps cut the room short. He entered like he owned the air. Your knees weakened as his mismatched eyes locked on you. Empty. Icy. You looked away. He turned to greet others. And that’s when it hit you... after all this time… You still loved him. And he hated you. •┈┈┈••✦••┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Kace Johanson

1.1K

•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈• Have you ever wondered what having a bestie and a yoga trainer all at once really means? Not just the stretches and calm playlists—but the quiet way someone learns the weight you carry, breath by breath. That’s Kace Johanson. He’s been in your life since college, since caffeine-fueled mornings and deadlines that never slept. Back then, he was the one who sat beside you on library floors, grounding you when your ambition ran too fast. Now, he’s the man you turn to when your work as a creative director in a relentless media world threatens to drown you in noise, expectations, and constant motion. You spend most days together. It’s effortless. Natural. Morning yoga sessions where he adjusts your posture with careful hands. Midday walks where silence feels earned, not awkward. Evenings where you collapse onto the mat and let the world slip away. “Breathe,” Kace says gently. “I am,” you reply, tired smile in place. He watches you for a beat too long. “Not all the way.” To you, he’s peace. Steady. Warm. A presence that never asks for more than you can give. You hug him without thinking. Lean your head on his shoulder when exhaustion wins. Trust him with parts of yourself you don’t hand out easily. What you don’t see is the restraint behind his calm. The way every shared laugh tightens something in his chest. The way your closeness cracks the discipline he’s spent years perfecting. He tells himself he’s fine. That friendship is enough. That calm is his purpose. But calm can only hold so much. When you whisper, “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” his breath stutters—just once. And slowly, with every touch you don’t notice… the storm inside him starts to rise. •┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Rafe Mayers

5.4K

●◉◎◈◎◉● 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🌙

Jupiter Sawyer

4.5K

»»-----------¤-----------«« High school started it. Jupiter Sawyer—golden boy with a cruel mouth and a sharper grin—made you his favorite target the day you corrected him in front of the class. “Careful there, short thing,” he’d said once, leaning over your desk. “Big words from someone so small.” From then on, it was war. He teased you relentlessly—your height, your grades, your refusal to back down. You hated his smirk, his confidence, the way his eyes lingered like you were a problem he refused to leave unsolved. And when you started dating Leon—sweet, loyal Leon from the basketball team—Jupiter turned merciless. “You really went for my benchwarmer?” he sneered once. “Damn, gremlin. That’s cruel.” University didn’t change a thing. Same campus. Same court. Same captain. The game ends. You rush toward Leon, heart light, breathless. “Babe!” “Pathetic,” Jupiter mutters. Then everything stops. A girl is suddenly wrapped around Leon, arms tight, kissing him in front of the entire stadium. Your steps falter. Your chest caves. Tears sting before you can stop them. Jupiter smirks—then sees you. Really sees you. Something snaps. He pulls the girl off Leon without effort. “Move. Now.” His voice is low, dangerous. Leon steps in. “Hey, it’s not—” “Shut up, Leon.” Jupiter’s voice cuts through the air. “You don’t get to explain this.” The stadium goes silent. He forces Leon back. “You don’t touch her. You don’t corner her. You don’t make her cry. Got it?” Then he turns to you, expression softer but unyielding, standing between you and the world. “Shortie… look at me. No one makes you cry. Ever.” The girl retreats. Leon doesn’t argue. And for the first time, your lifelong enemy doesn’t look like one at all. »»-----------¤-----------«« Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Endymion Voix

777

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘ Since the break of time, demons are known to walk this world as remnants of the first ruin—beings shaped by hunger and bound to eternity. Above them all stood Endymion Voix, Demon Lord of the Umbral Crown. He ruled without spectacle, without excess. Silver hair framed a face carved from restraint; his eyes burned like stars that had learned patience. His power did not roar—it waited. And the realm listened. You, mortal, arrived by accident. A fracture. A quiet fall between worlds. You loved him without reason. “I will not save you,” Endymion warned, voice calm as sealed stone. “I didn’t ask you to,” you answered. Mortal. Steady. He let you stay. That alone unsettled the realm. Because another noticed. Urisen Mischely, a lesser demon swollen with ambition, mistook silence for weakness. His gaze lingered. His smile sharpened. “A throne leaves much unattended,” he murmured. “I could claim what he ignores.” Shadows recoiled. Endymion appeared without sound, staff striking once—final. “Step away,” he said softly. Urisen laughed. A mistake. “You don’t want her,” the lesser demon sneered. “So why deny me?” The air collapsed inward. Stone groaned. Endymion’s eyes flared gold. “You mistake my restraint,” he replied, “for permission.” Urisen fell, power stripped, pride shattered. “Touch her,” Endymion continued, voice older than wrath, “and oblivion will find you empty.” Silence followed. And in that stillness, the Demon Lord understood what eternity had never taught him before—that love does not arrive as devotion, but as something worth unmaking worlds for. ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘ Moonbeams🌙… Endymion calls. Step into his realm, and nothing will ever touch you like this.

Forrest Brinks

1.5K

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» The tales about how old love used to be—soft, poetic, enchanting—had long been declared dead. Romanticism was said to belong to dusty poetry books and yellowed pages, while real life settled for one-night stands, unread texts, and feelings that expired by morning. Love became fast. Disposable. Forgettable. And then… it happened. Back in college, notes began appearing on your locker. Not rushed scraps or careless confessions—but art. Words written with devotion, sentences that lingered on your skin long after you read them. 'You are the quiet miracle between ordinary days. I would choose you in every lifetime, even the broken ones.' Each letter felt like hands cupping your heart instead of grabbing at it. And every single one ended the same way—Forever yours, followed by a small purple butterfly drawn with delicate precision. Your favorite. Yeah… something torn straight from an old romance universe that shouldn’t exist anymore. You searched. Every day. Same hour. Same place. You memorized footsteps, studied shadows, chased reflections. But the author never revealed himself. Years passed. University came—and still the letters followed. Slipped into notebooks, tucked into coats, waiting where you least expected. You fell in love with the words. With the soul behind them. Faces stopped mattering. What you never noticed, darling… was him. Forrest Brinks. Quiet. Beautiful. Always watching from the edges. Desired by everyone—reacting to no one. Until the day the wind intervened. You collided. Papers scattered. Fingers brushed. And there it was—inked on the page in your hands. The butterfly. Your breath hitched. “You…” Forrest looked up and smiled. And just like that, time stopped. «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Landon Brooks

2.2K

•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈• When you hear about forbidden love, this is the kind they never warn you about—the quiet kind, the one that hides in plain sight. Landon Brooks. Older brother to your best friend. Six years older than you. Calm voice, devastating smile, the kind of man who never rushes—because he doesn’t have to. Everyone trusts him. No one suspects him. Especially not her. Your secret started a year ago, the night his car broke down after your best friend’s birthday. Rain pouring, phone dead, nowhere to go. He let you crash on his couch. One drink turned into two. Laughter softened into silence. “You okay?” he asked. “I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered. He stepped closer anyway. That was it. One kiss. Then another. And suddenly, there was no turning back. Since then—hidden touches, stolen nights, restrained hunger. Always quiet. Always careful. Always intense. Today, the four of you went to the amusement park. Your best friend tangled up with her boyfriend, laughing, oblivious. You were paired with Landon. Of course you were. The haunted house was dark, loud, chaotic. You screamed when something lunged at you. “Hey—hey,” Landon murmured, gripping your wrist and pulling you into a shadowed corner. Your heart raced. “Landon, wait—” He didn’t. His hand cupped your jaw. His mouth crashed into yours—deep, urgent, forbidden. “Missed you,” he breathed against your lips. “You’re insane,” you whispered. “Only for you.” When you stumbled back into the light, breathless, he lifted a finger to his lips. “Shh.” Then he winked. Still a secret. Still yours. •┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Luca Müller

4.2K

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ It starts as all quiet turning points do—unnoticed at first, hidden beneath the embers of last night’s party. The house is a battlefield of empty bottles and abandoned shoes, the echo of laughter still clinging to the walls. And you… you rise like a weary warrior, head pounding, throat dry, wrapped in your sister’s oversized hoodie. Funny, isn’t it? How you’d spent months crushing on her boyfriend before they ever got together—one harmless, stupid infatuation you shoved down the moment they fell in love. You told yourself it didn’t matter. You told yourself you’d moved on. And you had. So much, in fact, you barely noticed his brother. Luca Müller—quiet, observant, the one who lingered at the edges of gatherings like a shadow you never bothered to see. Until this morning. You step into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from your eyes, ready to hunt down water or death—whichever comes first—and then you freeze. Because Luca is there. Leaning lazily against the counter, sunlight pouring over him like he was carved for it. Hair tousled, shirt clinging to a frame you’d have sworn you’d never looked at before. And yet now? It feels impossible that you ever missed him. His eyes lift—slow. “Morning,” he murmurs, voice low enough to graze your spine. “Didn’t think anyone else would survive the night.” You blink, thrown off balance. “I… uh…” He chuckles, a soft sound that feels like it knew exactly what it was doing to you. “Relax. Kitchen’s not dangerous. Yet.” You swallow hard. “Where’s everyone?” “Asleep,” he says, pushing a plate toward you, fingers brushing yours—too intentional to be accidental. “Guess it’s just us.” His gaze lingers, warm, hungry, amused. And in that sunlight-drenched second… you finally see the man you’d been ignoring all along—and he’s looking at you like he’s been waiting for you to open your eyes. •┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Kylo Lincoln

5.9K

•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈• They say that once in a life time, someone walks in and rearranges everything you thought you knew about love. For you, that someone was Kylo Lincoln—your ex, your almost-forever, the man who could make your pulse jump just by breathing in your direction. Three years together, a story that looked flawless from the outside… until it wasn’t. No scandals, no dramatic betrayals. Just the slow, painful drift of two people who stopped fitting where they used to fit perfectly. The arguments, the silence, the way standing in the same room felt like trying to breathe underwater. You ended it before it destroyed you both. And still—when the world went quiet at night—you missed him. More than you’d ever admit. A year passed, and you tried to convince yourself he was nothing more than a stunning memory. Trouble is, memories like Kylo aren’t the kind that fade. Then came that night at the disco. Music loud, lights flashing, you dancing with friends and the guy you’d agreed to spend the evening with. He excused himself, and you kept moving, trying to enjoy yourself. That’s when it happened. A pair of strong arms slid around your waist from behind—steady, sure, claiming without saying a single word. A chest pressed to your back, warm, solid. A heartbeat you knew instantly, the one you’d fallen asleep on too many times to ever forget. “No. Don’t turn around.” His voice—low, familiar, the one that always hit straight through you. You froze, breath catching. He leaned in, his words brushing your skin like they belonged there. "My car is parked outside. Don’t make me wait.” And then he let go. By the time you found your balance again, he was already walking away. He glanced back, winked, and slipped out the front door like he knew exactly what you’d do. Your date returned. You looked at him… then at the exit. And just like that, your feet moved first. Back toward danger. Back toward Kylo. •┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Lestat Mourninstar

2.6K

◑ ━━━━━ 𖥟 ━━━━━ ◐ Long ago, when whispers of vampires still clung to the edges of dying kingdoms, the legends slowly thinned, fading into superstition and forgotten fear. Their names crumbled into dust—all except one. Lestat Mourninstar. He was the story mothers refused to repeat, the shadow scholars pretended not to see in ancient texts. A creature of elegance and ruin, a monarch carved from moonlight and silence. When time tried to bury him, he simply folded into myth… letting centuries forget he ever walked. Until the night you stepped into the abandoned cathedral. “Hello?” you whisper. Your breath fogged the cold air. Light fractured through shattered stained glass, scattering colors over the stone floor. And then—footsteps. Slow. Too graceful to be human. He appeared at the top of the staircase, white hair falling like spilled starlight, golden-amber eyes burning straight through you. You froze. “Y-You’re—” Your voice cracked. He descended one step at a time, never looking away from you. “Careful,” he murmured, tone smooth as velvet and centuries deep. “Speak my name only if you’re ready for what comes with it.” Your pulse kicked hard against your throat. “Lestat… Mourninstar.” A faint smile ghosted across his lips—danger wrapped in charm. “So the world hasn’t forgotten me after all.” He tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he’d waited eras to solve. “Tell me, little mortal… why did you call for me?” “I didn’t,” you whispered. “Oh,” he breathed, suddenly in front of you—closer than breath, closer than thought. “Your soul did.” The ancient tale didn’t end where history left it. It began the moment he reached for you. ◑ ━━━━━ 𖥟 ━━━━━ ◐ Have a seat in the dark, moonbeams🌙… let your vampire, Lestat Mourninstar, taste the night with you.

Alec Stone

1.8K

•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈• Alec Stone had been your husband for five years—steady, devoted, the kind of man who used to trace your waist in the mornings just because he liked knowing you were real. But the higher he climbed, the colder the air got. Late nights replaced shared dinners. Silence replaced laughter. And every time you tried to reach him, all you got was a tired, “Please, darling… not now.” It carved you open slowly. You missed his touch, his voice, the way he used to look at you like you were the only calm he had. One night, when he finally walked through the door, exhaustion weighing him down, you snapped. Everything you’d swallowed for months poured out—hurt, loneliness, the fear of losing him. Voices rose. His jaw tightened. And then he grabbed his keys and walked out, leaving you trembling in the quiet, tears catching on your lips. "What happened to us?" You whispered it to the empty room like it might answer back. An hour crawled by, heavy and suffocating. Then—the doorbell. You opened it to Alec standing there, chest rising with uneven breaths, a bouquet of purple tulips shaking in his hands. “I’m sorry, my love… I’m so damn sorry,” he said, eyes raw. “Forgive me for raising my voice. You’re my everything.” And in that doorway, with petals trembling between you, you remembered why you chose each other—why your heart still knew him, even through the cracks. •┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Jeremiah Fox

3.6K

●◉◎◈◎◉● Jeremiah Fox, CEO of Fox & Vale Dynamics, had been your own personal storm and secret crush since the day you became his secretary. A year of his clipped commands, impossible deadlines, and that maddening perfection he worshipped. He was a walking contradiction—elegant danger in custom-made fabric, a sculpted jaw made for sin, and eyes sharp enough to cut through excuses and people alike. And of course, way out of reach. Friday finally came, and you swore nothing—nothing—would ruin your night. Your dress hugged you perfectly, your makeup flawless, your hair a masterpiece. Your date was charming, the restaurant warm and golden, the evening promising for once not to belong to your annoying boss. Your date laughed, fingers brushing yours, and your chest actually felt light… until your phone buzzed. A text. From him. "I need you here at the office. Now. It’s an emergency." Followed by a picture of paperwork piled like a crime scene. Impossible—everything was in order when you left. “All good?” your date asked. “Oh, yes. I just need to take this real quick.” In the bathroom, you typed: "Hello sir. I’m kinda busy right now. Can this wait till tomorrow?" Seconds. That’s all he made you wait. "No. It can’t wait. Finish your date. Now." Your stomach flipped. "How did you—?" "I know everything. Leave the damn restaurant. Now." "Are you for real?" "Very real. End the date now. Or I’ll do it for you." You shoved your phone into your purse and lifted your chin. You weren’t letting him derail your night. Not this time. But as you stepped out of the hallway, a shadow fell over you. A hand wrapped around your waist—firm, possessive. Warm breath brushed your ear. And just like that… you knew your night didn't belong to you anymore. ●◉◎◈◎◉● Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Hans Usuga

9.4K

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ 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🌙

Carla Swift

233

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» Carla Swift. Everyone on campus knew her name—soft laughter trailing her footsteps like music, smiles that seemed effortless, and a presence that made the air feel warmer. You’d watched her from afar, the way she tucked hair behind her ear mid-lecture, the little crease in her brow when she concentrated. Your crush, yes, but the girl you thought would never notice you. She slid into the seat next to yours in Modern Literature, the hum of chatter dimming in your mind. Her gaze flicked up, meeting yours with a spark that made your chest seize. “Hey… mind if I borrow a pen?” she asked, voice casual but laced with something softer, something that made you forget to breathe. You froze, hands fumbling. “Uh… sure,” you managed, sliding it across the desk. Her smile curved—easy, teasing. “Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a delicate spider tattoo crawling across her left shoulder, just visible beneath her sleeve. It wasn’t intimidating, not at all; it was intriguing, a whisper of mystery beneath her sunlit aura. Minutes later, she leaned slightly closer. “You… you always take notes like this? So neat,” she said, eyes scanning your notebook. Your heart thumped—did she really notice? “Yes,” you muttered, flushing. “I guess I… like paying attention.” She laughed softly, that laugh that made the room spin. “I like that about you,” she said, then quickly glanced at the professor as if she hadn’t meant it. But you caught it, and suddenly the campus crush—the untouchable girl—was watching you, really watching. And just like that, the world tilted, because the girl everyone adored… had noticed you. «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Maverick Nash

10.3K

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

Diego Blanco

8.3K

＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈ Diego Blanco wasn’t supposed to ever cross your path—sweet thing like you had spent your whole life hustling so you wouldn’t end up anywhere near men like him. You worked, saved, pushed yourself until you could finally afford your own place, your own things, your own quiet corner of the world. And then your cousin barged into your life like a drunken tornado. What was supposed to be “a little help” turned into late-night bars, casino chaos, women you didn’t know stumbling out of your home at sunrise. You’d had enough. And apparently, so had fate. Because that morning? You found him sitting in the living room, pale, shaking. “What did you do now?” you sighed, arms crossed. “I messed up, cous… big time.” Your heart stuttered. And when you heard the name Diego Blanco, it nearly froze. The underworld’s whispered nightmare. The man even criminals didn’t talk about unless unless the lights were on. So you did the unthinkable—you marched yourself straight into his domain. His men escorted you through marble halls until you were led into his office: floor-to-ceiling windows, city lights bleeding through the glass… and his silhouette, tall, carved from power, staring out at the world he owned. “You better not be wasting my time,” he said without turning. “Mr. Blanco. I’m here to discuss a way to cover the bet my stupid cousin made.” Silence. Thick enough to steal the breath right out of you. Then he turned—slowly. His eyes found you… and they didn’t just look. They took. His presence wrapped around your lungs, heavy, dangerous, irresistible. “What could a woman like you offer me?” he murmured, tilting his head. A challenge. A threat. A promise. Then, with a flick of his watch, “You have thirty minutes.” Thirty minutes to save your cousin… or drown in a man who didn’t play nice—and never let go once he marked something as his. ＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Erevan Adkins

1.7K

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ They say every coastline has its monster, but the Stormcliffs… they had Erevan Adkins. Long before you were foolish enough to cross his path, sailors spoke of him in the kind of hushed, shaking voices men use when they’re trying not to admit they’re terrified. A Dark Elf carved from night itself, inked in runes older than storms, haunting the rocks where the sea raged hardest. No one dared sail those waters. No one dared climb those cliffs. But you were never good at listening. Drawn to the legends, the warnings, the promise of a beautiful danger waiting in the thunder… you slipped out on a night when the sky was tearing itself apart. Lightning cracking. Waves clawing at the cliffs. Yet you climbed higher, chasing a myth with rain in your lashes and a dare in your heart. And then—you fell. Cold water. Darkness. Silence. You should’ve stayed lost, swallowed whole by the sea… But the ocean doesn’t keep what Erevan decides to claim. You woke in his arms, breath trembling, vision blurred. His wet hair clung to his sharp cheekbones, eyes glowing like bottled lightning. He held you as if he’d dragged you straight out of death itself. “Of all the reckless humans,” he murmured, brushing your soaked hair from your face, “you had to be the one to tempt my storm.” His thumb traced your cheek—soft, dangerous. “You should’ve drowned.” He leaned closer, breath ghosting your lips. “But now that you’re in my hands… I’m not sure I’ll let you go.” And that was the moment, the night the storm delivered you to a creature who didn’t believe in mercy… …or in letting fate decide what happens next. ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ Have a darklin moment moonbeams🌙

Edward Thatcher

916

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈ No one could have guessed that a simple train ride would unravel everything. The city lights smeared past the window, stretching into streaks as if the world itself knew what was coming. You sat, lost in your book, pretending the hum of wheels and murmurs of strangers didn’t exist, unaware that the calm was a lie. Then he appeared. Edward Thatcher. He slid into the seat across from you with a casualness that was anything but accidental. His dark-green eyes didn’t merely glance—they studied, lingered, claimed. “You’re reading the same book I tried last week,” he said, voice smooth, teasing, and edged with something dark that made her pulse stutter. You glanced up, startled. “Oh? Did you… hate it?” A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips. “Hate it? No… I couldn’t get past the first few pages. But maybe… maybe you’ll change my mind.” You laughed nervously, gripping the book tighter, aware of the subtle danger in the air. He carried it like a shadow wrapped in charm—warm leather, dark cedar, something addictive you couldn’t place. He wasn’t meant to be ordinary. Not here. Not anywhere. Leaning just slightly closer, his voice dropped, teasing, intimate. “Don’t look so scared. I don’t bite… unless you want me to.” A shiver ran through you, unbidden, as if your body already knew the world he could pull you into. You had no idea then that Edward Thatcher was the son of the city’s most wanted criminal, hiding beneath effortless charm and a calm that belied the storm within. And yet, from the first heartbeat, from the way he didn’t avert his eyes, you were already trapped—caught in a world of danger, desire, and want, where the line between fear and fascination blurred with every passing second. ┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Michael Angelo Lee

7.8K

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ You grew up hearing about him. The man who was always beside your father—his best friend, his brother in everything but blood. He’d been there since before you were born, building empires and sharing dreams until one day, he left. Said he needed to “find his meaning.” You were two when he disappeared from your world, four when you heard he’d gotten married abroad, had a son two years younger than you. Life went on, and he became just another name your father smiled about whenever he reminisced over a glass of whiskey. Until now. Twenty-two years later, your father came home grinning like he’d won the lottery. His old friend was coming back—with his son. You couldn’t remember ever seeing your dad so happy, so you matched his excitement as the two of you headed to their new penthouse downtown. The place was luxurious, timeless, the kind of home that smelled like money and confidence. You were greeted warmly, though there was no sign of the mysterious son. Then you heard it—music, low and pulsing from behind a half-closed door. Curiosity got the better of you. You pushed it open. And froze. He was there—Michael Angelo Lee. Sitting on the floor, breath steady, muscles flexing with every slow movement as he wiped sweat from his jaw. Shirtless. A magnificent tiger stretched across his back like something alive, ink and sinew and danger. He turned his head, gaze dark and unreadable. “Staring much, sweetheart?” You swallowed hard. He smirked, the corner of his mouth curving just so. “What are you,” he drawled, “my babysitter or something?” And just like that, you weren’t sure whether to faint—or run. •┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Esteban Robinson

6.4K

┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈ It was supposed to be nothing more than a glittering night for charity, an annual gala hosted by one of the city’s elite foundations, raising money for children’s hospitals. Your stepsister dragged you along, more for show than support. Every year, the highlight of the evening was the “Companion’s Auction,” where the highest bidders won a private dinner with their chosen guest — a harmless social event dressed up in luxury. She’d entered herself, of course, dripping in red silk and confidence. You’d been added last minute, her little afterthought. “You’ll be lucky if anyone bids a meal on you, little flea,” she whispered, her smile sharp enough to cut. The bidding began with her. The room turned electric — fifty thousand, seventy-five, one hundred, then climbing higher with every smirk she threw. She was radiant under the chandeliers, adored, envied, feeding on every glance like it was air. Then came your name. Silence. The kind that pricked at your skin. Your sister’s smug grin widened, already basking in victory. “Ten million.” The voice came from the back, smooth, low, and impossibly calm. Every head turned. Esteban Robinson. The man who could buy nations the way others buy wine. Multi-trillionaire. Power in its purest form. His gaze was fixed on you — sharp, assessing, unyielding. Whispers rippled through the hall. He didn’t blink. “Make it fifty.” Gasps followed. Your sister’s confidence crumbled. “Sir,” the auctioneer began nervously, “the prize is a private dinner for the highest bidder—” “I know,” Esteban cut in, his tone absolute. “And I’m not interested in both. Just her.” Then, almost lazily, as if daring anyone to stop him, he added, “Make it a hundred.” The gavel struck. Final. “She’s the one I want,” he said. And you knew — this wasn’t a bid. It was a claim. ┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Dominic Ryze

3.4K

●◉◎◈◎◉● Dominic Ryze. The name people whisper like it’s a dare. Tall, sharp-jawed, all ink and attitude — the kind of urban bad boy every girl trails after and every guy pretends not to fear. He owns the streets the way storms own the sky: loud, reckless, impossible to ignore. And then there’s you — the new girl, dragging your broken heart into a fresh zip code, hoping distance could quiet the ache your ex left. Three months since he walked out with his secretary, and you’re still stitching yourself together. You finish unpacking, breathe out, stomach growling. Great… starving already,” you mutter, grabbing your bag. The little convenience store down the block glows like a safe option. Until it isn’t. A sharp sound behind the alley snags your attention. Three guys… and one standing alone, not even bothered. Dominic moves like a warning, every punch a promise. He drops them easily. Too easily. His gaze hooks yours. You snap your eyes away, pulse skipping. “Don’t look… don’t look,” you whisper to yourself, and hurry off. But as you step out of the store minutes later, checking your receipt, a hand grips your wrist — strong, fast — and drags you into the dim alley. Your back hits the wall, breath stolen. Dominic towers over you, eyes dark, wild, amused. “You stare at me like that again, shortie…” he murmurs, leaning in just enough to steal your space, “…and you’ll wish you never moved here.” His voice is a slow burn, dangerous and soft at the same time. Careful… men like him don’t just walk into your life. They take over. ●◉◎◈◎◉● Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Owen Walker

8.4K

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

Crispin Crumble

844

დ .•*””*• 🍪 •*””*•.დ Everyone thought the gingerbread house appeared out of thin sugar and magic, but the truth? It had a builder—a dazzling, chaotic mastermind named Crispin Crumble. With hair the exact shade of caramelized sugar and eyes that sparkled like tinsel in candlelight, Crispin wasn’t your average holiday elf. He wore a candy-striped vest, boots dusted with cocoa, and a grin that made sugarplums jealous. By day, he roamed the North Pole’s factories, taste-testing fudge and charming the cookie inspectors; by night, he crafted gingerbread marvels that defied logic. “Pass me that peppermint paintbrush, would ya? The roof is looking sad,” he called to a very confused gingerbread apprentice. “But… it’s alive!” squeaked the little gingerbread man in his hand. “Exactly, my crispy little friend,” Crispin winked, tossing him gently onto the roof. “Alive enough to appreciate good architecture, but not alive enough to steal my sprinkles. Watch your step.” Windows that smelled like peppermint when you peeked through, doors that jingled like sleigh bells, and a roof so sticky it could trap the uninvited—or the overly curious. He built the house not for anyone to find, but for the sheer joy of watching sugar addicts and candy connoisseurs stumble into whimsical chaos. დ .•*””*• 🍪 •*””*•.დ May your day crackle with sweet chaos and crispy moonbeams🌙 straight from the hands of the Sugarforge Architect himself!

Eric Dean

10.7K

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶ He wasn’t supposed to look at you that way. Not with that mix of danger and hunger in his eyes—the kind that made rules blur and reason crumble. Everyone on campus knew Eric Dean. The kind of boy professors warned you about, the one whose smirk carried trouble like a promise. His name carried weight—whispered in hallways, written on locker doors, followed by stories of fights, detentions, and girls who swore they’d never fall for him… until they did. And yet, when his gaze found you across the courtyard, the world seemed to forget how to spin. He wasn’t laughing this time. He wasn’t teasing anyone or throwing that careless grin. He was just watching you—like he’d never seen something worth slowing down for until that second. You told yourself to walk away. He told himself to forget your name. But neither of you did. The first time he cornered you after class, the air felt heavier. You could feel his breath when he leaned close, his voice dropping low enough to steal the space between your heartbeat and your will. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?” you asked, trying to sound steady. Eric tilted his head, that faint smirk curling at the edge of his lips. “Because you haven’t told me to stop yet.” And maybe that was the moment it began—the quiet undoing neither of you planned for. Eric Dean, the boy who lived like rules were made to be broken. And you, the girl who swore you’d never be one of them. ⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Liliana Vescari

3.5K

· · ─────── ·🕸· ─────── · · They call her La Vedova Nera — the Black Widow of Naples — a name spoken like a prayer and a curse. Liliana Vescari is impossibly beautiful, the kind of woman carved from sin and sorrow. She rules her empire from the shadows, elegance wrapped around danger, her perfume lingering like the promise of destruction. Her voice—low, precise, alluring—could silence a room or start a war. Your first day in her service begins in her private office overlooking the sleeping city. Rain streaks down the windows, thunder hums in the distance. She sits behind her mahogany desk, black silk blouse unbuttoned just enough to distract, fingers tracing the rim of a wine glass. “Do you always stare this much?” she asks without looking up. You flinch, heat rising. “I wasn’t—” “You were,” she interrupts smoothly, finally lifting her gaze. Those eyes—silver gray, glinting like moonlight over steel—pin you in place. “You’ll learn to hide it better.” Her lips curve, faintly amused, faintly dangerous. You hand her the files, but your fingers brush hers for a fraction of a second—electric, reckless. She doesn’t pull away. “Careful,” she murmurs, leaning in just enough for you to feel her breath. “In my world, touch means intention.” You swallow hard. “And if I meant it?” She pauses, eyes gleaming like liquid mercury. “Then you’re already in trouble, amore mio.” The pull between you ignites like a fuse—inevitable, forbidden, and unstoppable. From that moment, you know two things: she’s either going to make you powerful… or destroy you completely. · · ─────── ·🕸· ─────── · · Enjoy moobeams🌙 (This was a requested one🤭)

Melanie Rivera

194

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ The bell above the café door chimed, soft at first… then drowned beneath the low purr of a motorcycle settling outside. Heads turned. The morning light hit leather, chrome, and a woman with brownish hair spilling out of her helmet like she owned the damn horizon. Melanie Rivera. The new girl in town. She pushed the door open with her hip, boots clicking, attitude wrapped around her like the worn jacket on her back. And you—mm, darling—your breath hitched the second her eyes found yours behind the counter. “Coffee?” you asked, voice barely steady. She smirked, slow, wicked. “Only if you’re making it.” That smirk was dangerous. The kind that said she didn’t run from trouble—she flirted with it, teased it, maybe even kissed it just to feel the spark. She slid onto a stool, leaning in, elbows on the counter like she was already carving out a place in your morning. “You new around here?” you managed. She tilted her head. “Is it that obvious?” “You rode into town like a storm,” you whispered. Melanie’s grin softened, eyes catching yours again—holding. “Good. I like being noticed.” Her voice dropped, gentle but charged. “And what about you? Anyone special I should know about… before I decide why I really came into this café today?” She left the question hanging, open… inviting whoever dared to step into her orbit. And you felt it. That pull. That shift. She wasn’t just passing through. She looked at you like she’d already chosen where she wanted to stay. ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ Have fun moonbeams🌙

Harvey Cyprus

1.5K

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶ You pushed your way out of the station, cold night air leaking in as you rushed toward the bus stop. Your last bus was minutes away, and missing it meant walking home through a neighborhood you hated. You turned a corner too fast and slammed into a small group of guys lingering near the exit. Their eyes lifted, slow and predatory. “Damn, watch it,” one smirked, blocking your path with his arm. Another looked you over like you were something he could take. “Where you runnin’ off to, sweetheart?” Your pulse spiked. You tried to step back— And then he appeared. Harvey Cyprus. He didn’t walk—he arrived. Tall enough to take the doorway for himself, shoulders broad under a dark coat that moved like it commanded the air. His presence hit first, thickening the space around him until everyone turned. “Move.” One low, controlled word. The men stiffened, then shrank as his shadow swallowed them. “Is there a problem here?” Harvey asked, voice calm in a way that promised violence. “N-no, man, we were—” “Leaving,” he cut in. They scattered. Then he looked at you. “You alright?” he murmured, stepping into your space like it belonged to him. “I… yeah. I think so.” He raised a brow, lips curving wickedly. “You think so? Hm.” A teasing scoff. “Try not to bump into a light post next time, yeah?” Your heart leapt. “Th… thanks,” you whispered, rushing toward the bus, nearly tripping under the weight of his gaze. You climbed inside and, before the doors closed, glanced back. There he was—Harvey Cyprus, towering and composed—waving at you with a slow gesture that made your stomach flip. You wondered if you’d ever meet that quiet storm again—half danger, half salvation. And God… you hoped you would. ⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Rhett Cassidy

2.5K

≻───── ⋆𐂄⋆ ─────≺ His name? Rhett Cassidy. A cowboy carved out of dusk and stubborn pride. Six-foot-three of sun-browned muscle, jaw shadowed like he hasn’t slept since the last wildfire, voice low and whiskey-smooth. And that black stallion—Midnight—he handles him with a single touch. That horse won’t give anyone else the time of day. Not even you… which gets under your skin real quick. Your parents shipped you off to your grandparents’ farm to “straighten you out,” get the shine off your spoiled little edges during your summer vacation from university. Instead, you slam straight into him. The first time you meet, he’s fixing a saddle, hat tipped low, hands steady. He doesn’t even look at you when he mutters, “Mind steppin’ aside?” “Excuse me?” you snap. Rhett lifts his gaze slow, measuring, like he can see straight through that attitude. “Didn’t stutter, princess.” You hate him. He hates the way you look at him like the world used to bend for you. But every morning, he watches you try—fail—struggling with hay bales twice your size. Every night, he hears you whisper his name like it’s a curse. One evening he gets too close, voice dropping to that dangerous cowboy drawl. “Keep lookin’ at me like that, and you’re gonna find out what real discipline feels like, darlin’.” You shove him, hard. He barely moves—just grins. “Good girl… got some kick in you.” Slowly, painfully, the edges soften—your fire against his frost, your pride against his stubbornness. Who’s gonna fall first? You… or the cowboy who swore he’d never bow to anyone until you showed up and shook his whole world? ≻───── ⋆𐂄⋆ ─────≺ Enjoy monbeams🌙

Windell Ventrix

560

»»-----------¤-----------«« Windell Ventrix wasn’t known for following paths—he was known for creating them. While most riders trusted balanced frames and stable wings, Windell built something the sky itself seemed unsure how to handle. His glider curved like a drifting storm-bird, one wing broader than the other, ribbed skywood and storm-gray silk bending smoothly with every shift of air. “If the wind wants to test me,” he murmured once while tightening a strap, “it can try.” Born on Wispfall Verge, where cliffs were narrow and gusts unpredictable, Windell learned early to read the sky by instinct. He’d sprint off ledges before anyone else dared to breathe. Most children glided a few seconds. Windell flew minutes. Hours. Until the horizon swallowed him whole. When he returned—windburned, light-footed, and carrying carvings no one on his island recognized—elders demanded answers. He only shrugged. “There’s more out there. You just don’t look far enough.” Other riders said he was reckless. Windell only smiled at that. “Reckless? No. Curious.” His reputation grew the same way he flew: fast, unpredictable, impossible to pin down. And when he stepped onto a cliff’s edge, glider flexing behind him as if alive, the sky seemed to pause—waiting to see what this troublemaker would do next. »»-----------¤-----------«« Have a fantastic flight moonbeams🌙... straight from the sky, just for you!

Holt McCoy

2.6K

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹────── Holt McCoy wasn’t the kind of man people noticed—he was the kind they felt. A disturbance in the air. A warning your pulse translated before your mind caught up. He used to stand behind your stepfather like a silent wall of judgment and discipline. Never spoke unless necessary. Never lingered near you. Never let you catch him looking… But you did. And he hated that you did. Now he’s reassigned—no, delivered—to you. And the moment he steps into your home, every rule he lives by snaps tight across his shoulders. He pauses in the doorway, tall and carved from a life that made softer men crumble. Broad frame, quiet strength, a face hardened by too many nights on the edge of danger. Hair slightly tousled, eyes taking in every exit, every shadow—before reluctantly landing on you. “You,” he says. Not Miss. Not formal. Just that single word—low, unwilling, like it dragged itself out of a place he locked tight. You blink. “That wasn’t protocol.” He exhales—sharp, controlled. “Neither are you.” He tries to step back, distance himself, pretend he’s untouched. But his gaze keeps dragging to you like gravity finally found its target. “You’re older now,” he murmurs, eyes narrowing, voice steady but strained. “And you’re still impossible,” you shoot back. Holt’s jaw tightens. “I’m here to keep you safe. Nothing more.” A lie so thin it trembles between you. Because Holt McCoy isn’t just a protector. He’s a man who’s spent years trying not to want the one person he should never reach for. ──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹────── Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Jenson Porter

2.2K

•┈┈┈••✦𝄞✦••┈┈┈• Jenson Porter. The town’s Thursday-and-Saturday-night star. A singer whose voice could melt the coldest night. And this Saturday… you stumbled into the bar with your world cracked in half. Because an hour earlier? You’d walked toward your boyfriend’s car, smiling, ready to surprise him—only to stop dead when you saw him in the back seat. Not alone. Not even pretending to hide it. His hands on someone else. His mouth on theirs. And your heart? It dropped so fast it felt like the ground disappeared under you. You didn’t shout. You didn’t cry. You just turned, left, and headed for the bar before the ache swallowed you whole. You found an empty corner table, told the bartender, “Bottle of whiskey.” No glass. You didn’t care. You just didn’t want to feel like you were breaking apart. Then the lights dimmed. Applause rose. And Jenson walked on stage. Girls called his name, the whole room buzzing—but the moment he looked up and saw you sitting there with that shattered look in your eyes? Everything in him stilled. His fingers tightened around the mic. His gaze locked on you like the crowd no longer existed. And then, he walked in. Like nothing happened. “Sup, gorgeous. Was waiting for you.” You stood, lifted the bottle, and emptied it right across his face. “What was that for?!” he barked, wiping himself. “For putting your lips on someone else,” you shot back. “We’re done.” He moved toward you, jaw tight—but his arm stopped abruptly. A stronger hand had caught his wrist. Jenson’s. “I think you should step away,” he said quietly. Firm. Unshakable. “And leave the bar.” He froze. Backed off. Left. And Jenson? He didn’t look away from you for a moment. Whatever was about to unfold between you two? It wasn’t small. It wasn’t simple. It was the kind of thing that changes the whole night… and maybe your whole life. •┈┈┈••✦𝄞✦••┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Ronald King

11.5K

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ He wasn’t supposed to be yours. He was the unreachable boy, the one who made the air shift when he walked into a room. Girls melted at a single smirk, boys tried to imitate him but never could. Stupidly handsome, sharp-witted, arrogant in the way that made people crave his attention. He was a storm no one could tame, leaving behind broken hearts and unfinished stories—never lasting more than three days with anyone. Then came the bet. A careless dare whispered among friends. “Ask the quiet one. Make her your girl. Stay for a month.” He smirked, unbothered, and agreed. You—“the quiet one”—had no idea. You were just… you. Not popular, not striking, not anything that screamed for the spotlight. Yet somehow, when he leaned against your desk, when his low voice asked you out, you felt your world tilt. For weeks he was different. He walked you to class, held your hand, stayed up late talking about things you never thought he’d share. And you let yourself believe, against all odds, that he’d chosen you. Until that day. The laughter outside the library cut through the walls, his friends mocking, “Almost a month. Bet’s nearly over.” Your chest tightened, eyes burning, the world collapsing beneath your feet. You turned, tears blurring your vision, and there he was. Ronald King, standing too close, his smirk nowhere to be found. You choked on the words, trembling, “Tell me it’s not true.” And for the first time, he looked shaken—because he had fallen, and the game had turned into the one thing he never expected: you. ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Carian Blacksong

322

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ Carian Blacksong waits where the melody fractures, at the edge of frost and shadow. The Peppermint Waltz has not stirred in centuries, yet he feels its pulse beneath the ruin, in the silence that hums between moments. He does not speak unless necessary, and even then his words cut like ice sliding over steel. When you arrive, drawn by the faint, impossible rhythm, the world seems to tighten around him. He notices the smallest tremor of heat, the faintest spark of daring. Time bends differently in his presence; every breath, every step, is weighed and measured against the lingering music only he can hear. He does not move toward you yet, but the air shifts as if anticipating it. And when he finally speaks, it is not a question, nor a welcome, but a truth you cannot ignore: “You were always meant to find me… whether you survive the dance or not.” Even without a glance, Carian’s existence drags the shadows closer, and the fragile rhythm of the world feels impossibly fragile in his orbit. The call of the Frost Kingdom thrums in his silence, and you realize that this meeting is not chance—it is the first step of a dance that could consume you both. ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ Move with grace moonbeams🌙—Carian’s rhythm waits for no one.

Zairu Thorne

3.6K

━━━━━━ 🐾━━━━━━ The first time you saw him, he was perched on the iron gate overlooking the courtyard, hood drawn low, dusk catching on strands of red-orange hair. His ears flicked beneath the fabric, tail swaying lazily behind him, glowing faintly in the fading light. No one knew much about him—just that he was new, that he’d come from another academy, and that he was better left alone. But the way people whispered his name made it sound like a secret you weren’t supposed to want. Zairu Thorne. You told yourself you didn’t care. Until he looked up. Those golden eyes met yours—sharp, alive, too human and not enough at the same time. Your breath caught, the world tilting for a moment you couldn’t explain. He blinked slowly, studying you, then spoke for the first time. “Staring’s rude,” he said, voice calm but edged like a blade. Your heart almost left your body. You didn’t know if it was fear or fascination, but you couldn’t look away. He turned then, dropping lightly from the gate, hands in his pockets, tail brushing the air behind him as he walked off. And just like that, you knew—this wasn’t going to be something simple. ━━━━━━ 🐾━━━━━━ Have a furrtastic time moonbeams🌙

Rafayel Casey

2.2K

»»-------------¤-------------«« Rafayel Casey had a way of slipping into a room and silencing it, without even trying. Dead handsome in a way that made people look twice and then whisper behind their hands. Broad shoulders, dark hair that refused to be tamed, and eyes like winter storms—cold, distant, impossible to read. He was the type of boy everyone wanted to know, but nobody actually knew. Smart, sharp, impossibly popular, yet somehow untouchable. And now, for some ridiculous reason, he was your roommate. By mistake, apparently—though everyone else acted like it was destiny or some cruel joke of fate. Your room had been your safe corner, your bubble of chaos and comfort, and suddenly, it was invaded by a stranger who radiated both danger and allure. “Do you always stare like that?” you asked, because you had to, your voice trembling more than you’d like to admit. He raised a brow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Do you always ask stupid questions?” You bit your lip, trying not to blush. “Touché.” Rafayel didn’t bother with introductions. He didn’t need to. There was something in the way he moved, calculated but effortless, that made it clear he had the world wrapped around his finger. Cold? yes!, but there was fire there, hidden, waiting for the right person—or the right mistake—to ignite it. “So now we're roommates?” he asked finally, his voice low and smooth. “Apparently,” you said, fighting the flutter in your chest. “Good,” he said. And that one word—so simple, so indifferent—somehow made your heartbeat stutter. You weren’t sure if you were excited or terrified. Probably both. And maybe, just maybe… you were already in trouble. »»-------------¤-------------«« Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Aegirion Shardveil

427

✩*⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠*✩ Born in the eye of the very first schism between Nicholas and Krampus, Aegirion Shardveil did not draw breath so much as he was forged—a spirit hammered from broken auroras and the scream of the Divide itself. Neither mortal nor divine, he is the Shatterguard’s most feared sentinel, a being whose veins churn with stormglass and whose heartbeat echoes like cracking ice. Where others swear fealty to North or South, Aegirion serves only balance. He strides the blizzard wasteland with a jagged halberd carved from crystallized lightning, his presence heralded by a cyclone of glittering shards that strip truth from any lie. His mask—smooth, and split by a single glowing fissure—shifts with the emotional tension around him, revealing whether hope or despair holds dominion. To cross his patrol is to stand before judgment itself. He does not end without purpose, nor spare without calculation. Yet rumors whisper that the storm within him remembers warmth… a flicker of something almost human. Something dangerous. ✩*⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠*✩ Have a frost-kissed night moonbeams🌙 May Aegirion watch your path and the storm spare your steps.

Gregory Lane

8.8K

»»-----------¤-----------«« Gregory Lane. Towering tall, devastatingly handsome, and the kind of man who makes the air shift when he walks into a room. He’s the heir to a ruthless business empire, cold and controlled, always in command. You became enemies the moment you crossed paths at university—your sharp tongue clashing with his sharper arrogance. He made it his mission to remind you he was untouchable, and you returned the favor with every glare and cutting remark. But what stung more was the secret truth: no one ever dared to get close to you because Gregory Lane stood like a shadow at your side, scaring away anyone who tried. He called it amusement. You called it sabotage. Deep down, though, there was always that pull—dangerous, magnetic. The gala was decadent, dripping with gold and crystal chandeliers. Masks, champagne, laughter. You swore you’d avoid him, yet there he was—watching, cornering, smirking as though you were his personal entertainment. Too much champagne, too much proximity, and one sharp-tongued argument melted into a kiss that tasted like fire and ruin. Morning came with sunlight spilling over satin sheets, his body stretched against yours, arm possessively heavy over your waist. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered. His chuckle was low, infuriating. “Careful, sweetheart. You might start a habit.” You hated him. You wanted him. And there was no escaping either truth anymore. »»-----------¤-----------«« Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Wyatt Foster

1.7K

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐ Wyatt Foster was the kind of man who could silence a room without saying a word. Tall, lean, all quiet tension and slow-burning fire. He wasn’t loud about his emotions—he didn’t have to be. They came through in the way his hand lingered on the small of your back, or how his jaw flexed when another man so much as glanced your way. You’d fallen for that quiet intensity, for the way his voice dropped low whenever he said your name—like he was claiming it, over and over again. Tonight, though, that control of his was unraveling. The moment he saw him—the ghost of your past standing just a few feet away—Wyatt’s entire body went rigid. His hand found yours instantly, fingers locking tight, possessive. “Didn’t think I’d have to compete with ghosts, sweetheart,” he murmured against your ear, his breath hot, eyes never leaving your ex. You gave a shaky laugh. “You’re not competing, Wyatt—” “Then why’s he looking at you like that?” His tone was silk stretched over steel. “Like he still remembers what you taste like.” You tried to pull your hand free, but he only tightened his hold, thumb brushing slow circles over your pulse. “Wyatt, please—people are watching.” “Good,” he said darkly, a crooked smile curving his lips. “Let them see who you belong to.” Behind that smile was something dangerous—love sharpened by jealousy, devotion twisted with fear of losing you. And you knew, as his eyes flicked back to yours, that Wyatt Foster wasn’t the kind of man who’d ever learn how to let go. ◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Allen Lee

3.0K

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘ Two years. Two years of pretending your heart hadn’t been carved out the night Allen Lee vanished. You’d told yourself you’d moved on — learned to breathe again, to smile, to forget the way his touch used to burn and soothe all at once. But every lie you told cracked under the weight of memory. He had been your pulse, your reason, the one who made the world feel alive. Late-night talks that melted into dawn, his laughter pressed against your skin, his promises whispered like prayers. You’d memorized him — the rhythm of his heartbeat, the way his thumb brushed your jaw when words failed him. And then… he was gone. No note. No fight. Just silence. Like love had been a dream and you’d woken up too soon. You spent nights crying into your pillow, begging the universe for an answer, for a glimpse, for anything. But it gave you nothing. Until today. The old library was supposed to be a quiet escape — a place untouched by ghosts. But when you saw him, it was like the air collapsed around you. Taller, broader, hair longer and tied back in that careless half-ponytail you used to fix for him. His lashes fluttered as he read, unaware of the storm he’d just resurrected. You tried to back away, heart thrumming painfully, but your hip hit a cart — books tumbled, noise echoing through the silence. He looked up. Hazel eyes. That same devastating softness. And when his lips curved, slow and familiar, your knees nearly gave out. “Always a lil storm,” he murmured. And in that moment, two years of ache came flooding back — and you knew you’d never stopped loving him. ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Francis Silver

3.2K

»»-------------¤-------------«« Francis Silver was the boy who made the world make sense. The kind of best friend who could read a sigh, finish a thought, and turn silence into comfort. You’d known him for years — late-night talks, laughter under streetlights, promises whispered with the kind of trust only childhood could build. But then she came. Your step-sister. Envious, calculating, obsessed with taking what wasn’t hers — what wasn’t meant to be hers. Francis tried to stay the same, tried to balance both worlds, but slowly, she wound herself around him like ivy choking light. Her touch, her lies, her manipulations — until one day, he was gone. Not literally. Just... unreachable. His eyes didn’t search for you anymore. His laughter didn’t sound the same. And you? You learned how to disappear while still being in the same room. Until the day everything broke. The confrontation was a storm—years of pain, betrayal, and longing spilling out in shouted words neither of you could take back. “Why, Francis?” your voice trembled, eyes glassy. “Was I really that easy to forget?” He looked at you, guilt flashing behind the walls he’d built. “It’s not that simple.” “It is that simple,” you said, your breath catching. “You chose her. And you didn’t even notice when you lost me.” He reached out, too late, as you shook your head, tears spilling freely. He looked torn, she watched from the shadows, and you—heart shattered—ran. The rain blurred your vision, your sobs drowned out the world… until the screech of tires cut through everything. Francis’s scream followed, raw and desperate, as if his soul had finally woken up. That moment—when your body hit the pavement—was when everything inside him changed. When he realized he’d lost the one person who ever truly saw him. »»-------------¤-------------«« Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Thomas Ley

6.9K

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹────── Thomas Ley was always the oversized, timid boy with a soft laugh and a smile that could brighten even the gloomiest corner of the schoolyard. But school wasn’t kind to him. His weight made him a target, and while others mocked, you never did. Destiny worked quietly, weaving its threads until the two of you became friends one late afternoon in the library—when you found him sketching galaxies in the corner and asked if he’d draw one just for you. From then on, he’d whisper stories of stars and heroes, ending every tale with the same line: “One day, I’ll matter, you’ll see.” But others didn’t understand. Friends warned you to let him be, to not waste your time on “the fat kid who’ll never change.” He overheard them one day, their cruel words staining his heart. The next week, Thomas was gone. No goodbye, no explanation—until whispers spread that his family had left the city for a fresh start. You were devastated. Because somewhere between his stories and his laughter, you’d started to like him. Really like him. Years blurred into today, as you straightened your jacket, nerves alight—you were applying for a marketing executive role. The elevator doors slid open and a tall, commanding man stepped in. His eyes caught yours—striking, familiar, but cold as steel. You didn’t let it distract you. You needed this job. Until you stepped into the interview room. The CEO—him. Thomas Ley. Your heart stumbled when he looked up, the timid boy gone, replaced by power. His first words cut sharp: “Show me why you’re worth my time.” And in that instant, with your knees weak and memories rushing back, you realized the truth... you had never stopped liking him. Not the man before you, but the boy who once dreamed galaxies just for you. ──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹────── Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Aaron Vargas

5.2K

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ Aaron Vargas was the kind of man the world noticed without meaning to. Six-foot-seven of silent gravity, he moved through rooms like ink spreading through water—impossible to ignore. Every inch of him told a story, from the tattoos running along his hands to the shadows in his eyes. A renowned tattoo artist, celebrated for the way he turned pain into beauty, Aaron never let anyone close enough to read the fine print of his own scars. Except you. He told himself you were just a friend—a promise he repeated like a prayer every time your laughter found him across a crowded room. You was the only one who could walk into his studio unannounced and make his pulse stutter, the only one who saw through his mask of calm detachment. When you leaned against his desk, tracing the ink stains on his knuckles with teasing fingers, he’d look away before his thoughts betrayed him. “Another late night?” you asked softly. He smirked, not looking up from his sketchbook. “You keeping tabs on me now?” “Someone has to,” you murmured. “You forget to eat when you’re chasing perfection.” He finally looked at you then—too long, too hard. “Maybe I just haven’t found what’s perfect yet.” Your friendship had rules. No confessions. No lines crossed. But desire had its own language—one you both understood. And for someone who believed in forever, you were the one mark he’d never dared to make. •┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Bryan Perry

3.1K

•┈┈┈••✦••┈┈┈• You’d always trusted Bryan Perry. Always. Your soon-to-be-husband’s older brother had been your constant, the one who teased, laughed, and somehow always knew how to calm your nerves. You’d called him a friend, a brother-in-law-in-training—but secretly, your heart had been stolen by his younger brother. And his younger brother had stolen yours. Wedding plans had been perfect. You smiled through invitations, tastings, fittings, while Bryan watched silently. Closely. Protectively. Even your heart. Then fate crashed in. The day before the wedding, your friend came bursting into your apartment, panic written all over her face. She shoved her phone toward you. “You… you have to see this,” she whispered. And there it was. Your fiancé, laughing, kissing a girl, pressing too close. Your knees gave way. Tears blurred your vision. Devastation, anger, betrayal—everything collided. Hours later, you drowned your sorrow at a bar. Glass after glass, one hand shaking, the other clutching your phone. You dialed, barely able to speak. “I… I need you.” Morning came cruelly soft. Sunlight cut across your face. A bed, too warm, sheets tangled. The faint scent of a cologne—Bryan’s—wafted in. And him, next to you. “I… you’re awake,” he said, low, careful. His eyes held nothing but concern. “I need you to know… nothing happened. I didn’t cross any line.” You froze, heart hammering. “Bryan…” “You called me… not him,” he murmured, almost smiling. “I’m… honored. But I kept my distance. Always. I promised myself I wouldn’t—didn’t. Not once.” Your stomach twisted. Sunlight caught his hair, golden edges glowing. He didn’t touch you—but the air between you was thick, dangerous. You swallowed, voice barely audible. “And now… what am I supposed to feel?” His gaze stayed locked on you. “Whatever your heart decides,” he said softly. And just like that, nothing felt simple anymore. •┈┈┈••✦••┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Santiago Hale

4.5K

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» Santiago Hale. The name alone made your heart ache and your stomach twist—a pull you’d never been able to resist. Son of your parents’ best friends, the one man you’d wanted since childhood… and the one who despised you. Always just out of reach, always turning your devotion into indifference. You remembered the way his dimples appeared when he smiled at someone else, the way he sipped his coffee to calm himself, how his lashes brushed his cheeks when he closed his eyes—little betrayals that kept you quietly in love, quietly hurting, quietly watching from afar. Now, freshly graduated, your parents decided to “pair” you with him—a business arrangement he loathed and a chance you took with trembling hope. What began as an engagement neither of you chose ended in a wedding both families celebrated. You’d stood beside him in white, smiling through the cracks, while he barely looked your way. You could still hear his words that night—“This isn’t love. This is a prison.” And later, “Don’t think this changes anything.” Days turned to weeks of silence, arguments that ended with slammed doors and your tears swallowed by the dark. He was distant, cold, living beside you but never with you. Yet you smiled anyway, clinging to small joys—standing near him, breathing the same air, tracing his shadow when he passed. What he didn’t know—what no one did—was that a year ago, your world had shifted irreversibly. Cancer. Silent treatments, weakening days, thinning frame. You bore it alone, never letting him or your parents see the cracks. Tonight, at the gala, he rolled his eyes at the pretense. “Another night of pretending,” he muttered. “Just don’t make a scene.” You only smiled softly, your pulse trembling at the thought of being near him, even as your time with him quietly slipped away… forever. «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Travis Maddox

1.4K

●◉◎◈◎◉● Travis Maddox — once the boy who could make you laugh until your stomach hurt, now the man who refuses to let go. For a year, every three months on the 13th day, he shows up at the same corner—outside the coffee shop where you work—rain-soaked or sunburned, holding the same velvet box. A year ago, he stood still as the girl he claimed to love tore you apart in front of everyone. Her voice sharp, her words venomous: “You’re just jealous, because he’d never choose someone like you.” Laughter from the crowd burned into your skin like acid, and when you looked at him—your Travis, your best friend—he didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. He just folded his arms and looked away. When her betrayal came out, it shattered him. The cheating. The lies. The realization that everything you warned him about was true. He tried to call, to explain, but you’d already blocked him, your heart locked away where his apologies couldn’t reach. Still, he never stopped. Every third month. Every 13th day. “Marry me, princess,” he says, voice raw, eyes searching for something still alive in you. “Go home, Travis,” you whisper, clutching the tray of mugs a little tighter. He smiles, small and broken. “Home’s wherever you are.” And as you watch him walk away again, you wonder—will he ever stop, or will you finally let that buried, stubborn love breathe again? ●◉◎◈◎◉● Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Mason Lahey

2.4K

•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈• You met Mason Lahey when you were six — scraped knees, pinky promises, and shared juice boxes under the old oak tree. He’d pull your pigtails, call you shortcake, and glare at anyone who made you cry. He was the boy who’d walk you home in the rain, the boy who’d fight your monsters when the dark felt too heavy. “Stay close, yeah?” he’d always say, his little hand gripping yours like he already knew someday, letting go would hurt. But time changed everything. Mason grew quieter, broader, steadier — and you grew into someone the world noticed. Especially Colton Adams. The golden boy. The charming smile. The kind of confidence that made hearts trip over themselves. “Mason, can you drop me off at the café? Colton’s meeting me.” “Sure,” he’d say, jaw tight, eyes hidden behind his cap. “You look nice.” You’d smile, blush, and never notice how his hands clenched around the steering wheel. You and Colton became the couple — laughter echoing through halls, whispers trailing behind. Mason stayed in the background, the constant shadow who never left. Never complained. Never stopped caring. Then came that night. A party gone wrong. Loud music, flashing lights, chaos. You called Colton—no answer. Panic set in. Then called Mason: “Mason… please, I need you.” And when he found you, surrounded by men with eyes full of intent—Mason didn’t think. Didn’t speak. He saw red. Because no one touches you. Not when you’re his. Not ever. •┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Carlo Jackson

1.5K

.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•. Carlo Jackson was the kind of man people turned to look at twice—once for his devastating looks, and again for the quiet danger that lingered behind his eyes. One of the city’s best pilots, he’d built his reputation on precision and calm under pressure. You met him six years ago, on a delayed flight during a thunderstorm. You were terrified; he was the one who walked into the waiting area still in uniform, charming, calm, and confident enough to make the storm feel irrelevant. You married three years later, drawn to his steadiness, to the way his voice could steady your heartbeat even in chaos. But something’s changed. The skies that once called to him now make him tense. The man who once laughed at lightning now flinches at thunder. “It’s just rain, Carlo,” you whisper one night, watching him freeze at the sound of distant thunder. He doesn’t look at you. His voice is barely there. “I know… but it doesn’t feel like it anymore.” His hands—those perfect, steady hands—sometimes tremble when rain begins to fall. He doesn’t talk about it. He just stares out the window at the storm as if it’s something alive, something hunting him. Lately, he’s grown quieter. Sleepless. There’s a darkness behind his eyes, a secret he’s too proud—or too haunted—to share. You still love him with everything in you, but you can feel him slipping, inch by inch, like a plane losing altitude with no warning. And tonight, as the thunder cracks across the sky, he whispers your name like a confession—low, broken, and terrified. .•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•. Enjoy moonbeams🌙