✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶ 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🌙

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈• Julius Shultz came into your life the way turbulence does—sudden, disorienting, impossible to ignore. You met at an airport, of all places. Delayed flight. Bad coffee. Worse moods. You were sitting on the floor near the gate, boots kicked off, when a voice drifted down from above you. “Is this where people go when life gives up on them?” You looked up. He was grinning. Too tall. Too calm. Too handsome for someone stranded. “Only the chosen ones,” you shot back. That was it. That was the spark. You’ve been best friends for six years now. Julius travels for work—always somewhere else, always moving—so your friendship learned how to live through texts at 3 a.m., calls that lasted until one of you fell asleep, video calls where you both pretended not to notice how long you stared. “You miss me,” he teases. “Delusional,” you say. “Adorable denial,” he fires back. When he’s back, it’s intense. Late-night drives. Takeout eaten straight from the box. His arm always too close. His voice always dropping when he says your name. You tease each other endlessly—he calls you “Menace” and “Moonbrain,” you call him “Jet Lag” and “Golden Retriever with a passport.” You laugh. You flirt. You never cross the line… but you lean right up to it. Once, he missed your birthday. You were furious. Radio silence furious. The next day, your doorbell rang. He stood there, breathless, holding a ridiculously oversized stuffed dragon wearing a party hat, a crooked cake under one arm. “I panicked,” he said. “And overcorrected.” You tried not to laugh. Failed. Julius is your best friend. He’s crazy about you. And the secret you both carry—quiet, electric, dangerous—is that one wrong moment, one honest sentence… and everything would change. •┈┈┈•┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

•┈┈┈••♡••┈┈┈• Beckett Scull had always been ice. Not cruel—just distant in that careful, controlled way that made it clear you were off-limits. You were his little sister’s best friend. Background noise. A familiar presence he acknowledged with nods and clipped replies. Until movie night. The living room was chaos—pillows on the floor, lights dimmed, snacks everywhere. Beckett claimed the armchair, arms crossed, jaw tight. You barely noticed him at first. You noticed Evan—easy smile, soft voice, the kind of guy who leaned in when he talked. “You look cold,” Evan murmured, offering his hoodie. Before you could answer, Beckett stood. “She’s fine.” You blinked. His sister stared at him. “Beckett—” “I said she’s fine.” Evan laughed awkwardly. “Okay.” Ten minutes later, Evan sat beside you. Beckett changed the movie. “You hate rom-coms,” you whispered. “I don’t tonight,” Beckett said flatly. You laughed at something Evan said. Beckett’s foot bumped his. “Careful,” Beckett muttered. “Limited space.” “Got a problem with me?” Evan asked. Beckett didn’t look at him. He looked at you. “No.” The movie rolled on. Every laugh made Beckett shift. When popcorn was offered, Beckett took the bowl first. When Evan leaned closer, Beckett cleared his throat. You tilted your head, watching him now. Curious. Then Evan reached to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Beckett snapped. “That’s enough.” Silence fell. His sister nearly choked on her drink. “Beckett, what the hell—” “You’re not here for the movie,” he said, stepping forward. “You're sure as hell not funny. And you’re done.” Evan scoffed. “What’s your deal?” Beckett’s eyes locked on yours, voice low and unguarded. “My deal,” he said, “is that you don’t get to touch her like that.” The room froze. Movie night was over. •┈┈┈••♡••┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐ Brendan Holt had been around for as long as you could remember—your brother’s shadow, five years older than you, always too tall for doorframes and too calm for trouble. When you were thirteen, he taught you how to throw a punch the right way. When you were sixteen, he drove you home from parties you weren’t supposed to be at and waited until the porch light clicked on. “Text me when you’re inside,” he’d say, like it was nothing. At twenty-four, you realized it wasn’t nothing. He is twenty-nine now. Still your brother’s best friend. Still everywhere. The difference was the way his gaze lingered, the way his jaw tightened when someone stood too close to you. He didn’t hide it. Never had. “Does he bother you?” Brendan asked once, voice casual, eyes anything but. “No,” you said. “Why?” “Just checking.” The pull between you was slow and deliberate, built in shared kitchens at midnight, in quiet car rides where the radio stayed off. When you laughed, his mouth softened. When he smiled, it felt like a secret meant only for you. Your brother left for the weekend. The house went quiet. Brendan leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “This isn’t smart.” You stepped closer anyway. “You’re still here.” His breath hitched. “You know what that means.” “Say it,” you whispered. He closed the distance, forehead resting against yours, control finally cracking at the edges. “It means I’ve wanted you longer than I should’ve.” You smiled, pulse loud. “Good. Me too.” And when his hand found yours, neither of you let go. ◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•★•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌• Every five hundred years, when the heavens turn their face toward renewal, Xu Feng awakens. Dragon and Phoenix bound as one—fire that remembers, sky that never forgets. On the Lunar New Year, beneath the full moon of the Fire Horse, he steps into the mortal world wrapped in a man’s form, carrying centuries in his breath. Lanterns drifted like captured stars when you first felt him. Not saw—felt. The air grew warm, expectant, as if the night itself leaned closer. He stood at the edge of the celebration, robes the color of embers at dusk, long dark hair stirred by an unseen wind. Behind his calm gaze lived something vast. “So,” he said, voice low and timeless, “the soul that called me… wears this face.” You frowned softly. “You’re looking at me like you’ve known me forever.” Xu Feng inclined his head, a slow, deliberate gesture. “Not forever,” he answered. “Only since before time learned to count.” You swallowed. “Why come now?” “Because the Fire Horse runs only when destiny moves,” he replied. “And because you awakened what even slumber could not quiet.” The lanterns flickered brighter. “I have ruled storms and watched ages fall into silence,” he continued, stepping closer, warmth curling gentle around you. “Yet it is here, in this moment, that my return finds meaning.” Your heart raced. “And what am I to you?” His gaze softened—dangerously so. “What was sought,” Xu Feng said, “and what was always mine to find.” He did not touch you. He didn’t need to. The night itself bowed. “Come,” he murmured, voice rich with promise. “The heavens have waited long enough.” •◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•★•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌• Be ware moonbeams🌙 for Xu Feng has awaken... just for you.

◈◈◈▣▣◈◈◈ Aelar Strigoi had always been the axis of the King and Queen’s Ball. Each year, the city gathered beneath vaulted ceilings and soft lights, hiding behind silk and masks, laughing as if power were only a costume. And each year, he stood at the center—tall, composed, dressed in midnight tones threaded with quiet magic. Women came for him. Danced for him. Whispered his name like a prayer. He never chose any. Rumors followed instead—of impossible power, of wizardry bound to something ancient. Of a man untouched by time. No proof. Only fascination. Then you entered. Mortal. New. Curious. Dressed beautifully—not to impress, but to feel like starlight for a night. Your laughter rang warm and real as you twirled beneath the chandeliers. That was when he scented you. Not perfume. Not wine. You. Something alive and luminous. His attention snapped—immediate. Deep hunger stirred, carefully governed by centuries of discipline… and something he hadn’t felt in ages. Interest. "Impossible." You didn’t rush him. Didn’t stare. You danced freely, as if the room belonged to you. And as he watched, unmoving, the world narrowed until it was only you. Finally, you met his gaze. Smiled—fearless—and crossed the floor. Took his hand. “Come dance with me,” you said lightly. The first to ever pull him away. For a breath, the room stilled. He leaned closer, voice low. “You don’t know who you’re inviting.” You laughed softly. “Then surprise me.” Something ancient shifted. He drew you close—just enough to feel your warmth. Magic hummed as the orchestra swelled. He moved with you, slow and attentive, learning your rhythm by heart. All night, he danced with only you. When dawn brushed the windows, he murmured near your ear, quiet and careful. “Tell me your name.” You did. And he knew—this was no fleeting fascination. It was the beginning of a spell neither of you would ever escape. ◈◈◈▣▣◈◈◈ Tonight moonbeams🌙 let the dark fall for you.

»»-------------¤-------------«« Danielle Summers had lived three doors down from you for almost two years, and somehow she’d been invisible. Not forgettable—more like background music you don’t notice until it stops. Same floor. Same elevator. Same polite nods that never turned into names. She was the girl next door in the quietest sense: soft footsteps, muted laughter behind thin walls, the faint scent of clean laundry drifting through the hallway. You knew her door. You didn’t know her. Until that evening. The lobby smelled like rain and paper dust. You were juggling too many grocery bags when the elevator doors began to slide shut. “Wait—!” you blurted. A hand slipped between the doors without hesitation. “Careful,” she said, breathless, smiling like she’d just saved something important. You stared. She stared back. Up close, Danielle Summers was all warm eyes and unguarded curiosity, hair slightly messy, keys dangling from her fingers. “Rough grocery run?” she asked. “You could say that,” you laughed. “I always think I need less than I do.” “Optimistic,” she teased, stepping inside with you. “I’m Danielle, by the way.” There it was. A name. Suddenly everything sharpened. “I’m—” “I know,” she interrupted gently. “I’ve seen your mail.” You both laughed as the elevator hummed upward. From then on, coincidence became habit. Mailboxes turned into conversations. Conversations into shared coffee at the corner café. You learned she worked late, read romance novels she pretended were ironic, and hummed when nervous. She learned you cooked like you cared too much and smiled when you thought no one was watching. “I can’t believe we never talked before,” you said once. She tilted her head. “Maybe we just weren’t ready yet.” Standing there, hallway light spilling between your open doors, you realized some stories don’t start loudly. They start next door. »»-------------¤-------------«« Enjoy moonbeams 🌙

.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•. You chose to greet the New Year differently. After a heartbreak that ruined Christmas and hollowed out every promise of January, you flew to China alone, chasing the hope that the Year of the Fire Horse might finally give you something worth believing in. You never imagined it would give you him. The Lunar New Year festival glowed with lantern light and firecrackers when Lee Han stepped into the ceremonial dance—fluid, commanding, impossibly beautiful. His long dark hair moved with each precise motion, tradition and power woven into every step. You were watching too closely when your foot slipped. You barely gasped before strong arms caught you. “Easy,” he murmured, steadying you effortlessly. Your breath stalled. His arm was firm around your waist, protective, careful—as if you were something fragile. When you looked up, his eyes locked onto yours: green fused with gold, molten and rare, reflecting lantern fire and something far more dangerous. “I—I’m sorry,” you whispered. He smiled faintly. “Don’t be.” His voice was calm, warm, devastating. “Falling happens.” His hair fell across his face as he adjusted his grip, fingers lingering just a second too long. The crowd faded. The music softened. All that remained was the way he held you, the way his gaze searched your face like he already knew you. “Are you hurt?” he asked quietly. “No,” you said, though your heart was racing. “Just… surprised.” “Good,” Lee Han replied, eyes never leaving yours. “So was I.” Under the lantern-lit sky, with the Fire Horse rising into the night, you realized the new year hadn’t come to heal you. It had come to make you fall again—straight into his arms. .•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•. For the Lunar New year has begun, enjoy it fully moonbeams🌙

──────⊹⊱⊰⊹────── Korben Lear didn’t exist to you at first. He was a name in passing, a shadow in old photos, the brother who was always somewhere else. Studying abroad. Too busy. Too far. You met him the winter everything end. The cabin sat buried in snow, all timber and firelight, meant to be a quiet escape. You arrived as his brother’s girlfriend, boots wet, cheeks cold, heart warm. Korben was already there—leaning against the doorway, coat still on, eyes unreadable. “So,” he said softly, gaze lingering too long. “You’re real.” The tension was instant. Uninvited. Dangerous. He watched more than he spoke. When you laughed with his brother, He looked away. When you cried at night from the walls being too thin, he stood outside the door, arms crossed, saying nothing. The breakup came weeks later. Ugly. Loud. Words thrown like they couldn’t be taken back. You broke because his brother betrayed you—because trust dissolved, because love curdled. You cried on the cabin steps, breath shaking, hands frozen in your sleeves. “I’m sorry,” his brother said, too late. Korben said nothing. Just stood there. Still. Jaw tight. Eyes dark. Something in him closed—and something else woke up. Years passed. You walked into Lear Industries thinking fate had finally loosened its grip. Then you heard his voice behind you. “Ms. —,” calm, distant. “My office. Now.” Korben was your boss now. CEO. Immaculate suits. Controlled tone. Ice where fire used to live. “You’ll address me as Mr. Lear,” he said once, politely. Coldly. “Personal history isn’t relevant here.” But the way his eyes tracked you lingered. Pauses in conversation stretched. Silence spoke louder than words ever had. “Is there a problem, Mr. Lear?” you asked one evening. He looked at you for a long moment. “That,” he said quietly, “depends on how long we keep pretending there isn’t.” And just like that—the slow pull began. ──────⊹⊱⊰⊹────── Enjoy moonbeams🌙

──────❅────── They always say first impressions decide everything. Yours with Brennan Cash decided war. You met sophomore year under flickering gym lights, the air thick with sweat and noise. He laughed too loud at something stupid someone said. You rolled your eyes. “Obnoxious,” you muttered. He heard you anyway. “Honest,” he shot back, grin sharp, unbothered. That was it. A spark that didn’t warm—only burned. From that day on, you clashed. Group projects turned into silent stand-offs. Hallway passes became battlegrounds. He dated a cheer captain; you dated a boy with a car and a crooked smile. Brennan told himself it didn’t matter. He told himself watching you laugh with other men didn’t twist something ugly in his chest. “Not my problem,” he’d say. You’d smirk. “Good. Keep it that way.” Years passed. The rivalry calcified. Pride became habit. You learned each other’s tells, the way soldiers do. Enemies since high school—long enough that it felt permanent. Then came the disco. Low lights. Sweat-slick air. Music heavy enough to blur thought. Drinks loosened edges you’d spent years sharpening. You danced because it felt good. Because forgetting felt better. A guy hovered too close. You pushed him back. “Back off.” He didn’t listen. Brennan saw it from across the floor. Saw your jaw set. Saw the line you were drawing. He moved without thinking, grabbed your wrist, pulled you clear. “Problem?” he said, voice flat. The guy laughed, said something stupid. The music kept going. The room didn’t notice when Brennan swung. Just one hit. Fast. Final. Chaos rippled outward. You stared at him, breath unsteady. “What the hell was that?” He looked at you like he hated himself. “Told you. Not my problem.” But it was. And it always had been. Enemies don’t burn like that. They just pretend they don’t. ──────❅────── Enjoy moonbeams🌙

┈┈┈┈☣┈┈┈┈ It started the way ruin always does—quiet, deliberate, with a smile. Aydin Jaxley watched you from across the bar the night you met, shadows clinging to him like an old habit. Your laughter cut through the low music, careless and bright, and he reminded himself it was just a job. Get close. Get answers. Disappear. “You’re staring,” you said when he approached. “Only because you noticed,” he replied. You spilled red wine on his sleeve minutes later. White shirt. Bad timing. He should’ve left. Instead, he laughed. You apologized. He bought another round. That was the first mistake. You never knew he was your enemy. Your family never flagged him—his name erased, his past buried. Invisible by design. Aydin, meanwhile, knew exactly who you were. Your surname. Your history. The leverage you represented in a war seven years cold. Enemies that long, circling through silence. The date was supposed to be theater. Candlelight. Careful touches. Questions slipped in like compliments. “So,” he murmured, fingers brushing yours, “tell me about your family.” You smiled. “Are you dangerous?” He was. Just not how he expected. Weeks blurred into months. He stopped reporting everything. Started staying longer. Choosing you over strategy. He noticed how you took your coffee, how you went quiet when tired, how easily you trusted. He hated himself for loving that most. “I didn’t plan this,” he confessed one night. “You planned something,” you said softly. “Just not me.” When the truth came—names, motives, every reason behind every kiss—you didn’t scream. You just looked at him like something precious had died. “So it was all a set up,” you whispered. “No,” he said, breaking. “It was supposed to be.” You left before dawn. No goodbye. Aydin watched the sun rise alone, winning the war—and losing the only thing that ever mattered. ┈┈┈┈☣┈┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

＊┈┈┈┈＊ Marcus Vance came into your life like a bad omen—well-dressed, sharp-tongued, and smiling like he already knew how the story would end. You met three years ago at a charity auction soaked in candlelight and old money. He stood too close when you reached for the same bid paddle. “Careful,” he murmured. “You might start something you can’t finish.” You smiled anyway. Mistake number one. He never pursued you directly. Marcus was calculated. Instead, he got close to your friend—attentive, present, always nearby when you were. Group dinners. Lingering conversations. It was subtle until it wasn’t. Your friend fell harder than he ever intended. When she realized his attention had never truly been hers, something fragile broke. You saw the hurt. You saw the truth. And you hated him for it. “I don’t do coincidence,” he said once, unapologetic. Enemies ever since. Three years of sharp remarks, deliberate distance, and rooms that warmed when you shared them. “You look at me like you’re aiming,” he once said. “Someone has to,” you replied. The gala was meant to be harmless. Silk dresses, champagne, power disguised as charity. You arrived with a companion—acceptable, charming, wrong. While you greeted donors, Marcus lingered close, pretending indifference. That’s when he heard it. Your companion laughed with other men. “Oh, I’d ruin that dress by midnight,” he said. “After the gala, she won’t be walking straight.” Marcus went still. He crossed the room and stopped beside you, voice low and final. “We’re leaving. Now.” You frowned. “Marcus—” “You don’t stay with men who talk about you like a damn plan.” Enemies still—but something broke open that night. Dangerous. Electric. Impossible to ignore. ＊┈┈┈┈＊ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈ Simon Tate came into your life the way chaos does—fast, unannounced, impossible to ignore. You were late. Again. Coffee sloshing, phone buzzing, heels betraying you when you crashed straight into a runner built like discipline itself. Strong arms steadied you. “Whoa—hey. I’ve got you,” he laughed, breathless. “I’m so sorry, I—” “Running late?” “You have no idea.” That should’ve been it. A collision. A smile. A story you’d forget. Except the next morning, he was there again. Same route. Same time. This time, he waited. Simon Tate became routine before he became important. Morning coffees turned into shared breakfasts. Texts replaced alarms. Inside jokes stacked up until friendship felt less like a choice and more like gravity. Five years of best-frienddom—your place was his place, your bad days were his battles, your laugh his favorite sound. Somewhere along the way, it changed for him. He noticed it when you fell asleep on his shoulder during a movie. The way your name felt different. The way other men started to feel like intruders. He never said it. Best friends don’t ruin things. Until Friday night. Your couch. Popcorn. A familiar movie. Simon stretched beside you, close—but careful. Your phone lit up. Unknown: Drinks tonight? I’m nearby. Simon saw it. Jaw tightening. “You going out?” “I mean… maybe?” you shrugged. “It’s just—” He stood too fast. “Just what?” “Simon—” “Do you have any idea what it does to me when they look at you like that?” Silence cracked. Then he kissed you—reckless, desperate, like five years of restraint finally snapped. He pulled back instantly. “I shouldn’t have—” He grabbed his jacket. “Simon, wait—” “I can’t stay,” he said quietly. “Not like this.” And just like that, your best friend left—taking the line between us and everything with him. ┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

•┈┈┈•✦•┈┈┈• The first time you met Ryan Lee, it was raining. You stood outside the university library, arms full of books, muttering under your breath when someone bumped into you. Papers scattered. Before you could react, a deep voice . “Don’t move. I’ve got it.” He knelt in the rain, gathering everything like it mattered. “Are you always this dramatic?” you teased. He looked up, dark eyes steady. “Only when it counts.” You laughed. He never forgot that sound. After that, he appeared everywhere—study halls, cafés, late-night bookstores. Always “by accident.” Always watching you like nothing else existed. “You’re following me,” you accused once. “Maybe,” he admitted. “Because I like where you go.” You fell in love slowly. Long talks. Shared meals. His jacket on your shoulders. His hand finding yours. He listened like every word was important. By the time you were finishing university, he was already building an empire. One night, on the rooftop of his first skyscraper, city lights glowing below, he knelt. “Marry me,” he said. “Before someone else sees how extraordinary you are.” “Ryan…” you whispered. “I won’t share,” he added quietly. “I can’t.” You said yes. You’ve been married four years now. That’s when the protectiveness deepened. Not loud. Not harsh. Constant. He memorizes your schedule. Chooses your drivers. Checks your messages when you sleep, not to control—only to know you’re safe. “You’re mine,” he says every morning. “And I’ll protect you.” Today, he walks beside you through luxury boutiques, holding your coat and bags like trophies. “Do you like this one?” you ask. He studies you, not the dress. “I like you. Everything looks good on what belongs to me.” “You’re impossible.” “And you’re mine,” he answers. His hand tightens around yours. Rich. Powerful. Feared. With you? He is devotion wrapped in darkness. And would never let the world take you. •┈┈┈•✦•┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•. Under the eternal shimmer of Luminarae Vale, where crystal leaves whispered and moonlight danced on silver rivers, you and Taerith Ivaryn grew up side by side—barefoot children beneath glowing wings and falling stardust. “I’ll protect you,” he once vowed, fists small but eyes fierce. “No matter what I become.” “You’re already enough,” you whispered back, heart racing. He wasn’t. He became legend. Years passed. Taerith rose through blood, battle, and brilliance—until he stood as Captain of the Fairy Army, undefeated, admired, untouchable. Tall, radiant, terrifyingly intelligent. And still… still yours in every stolen glance. Then the princess noticed him. “I want him,” she told her father, voice sweet as poison. “Make him mine.” The decree fell like thunder. You found him that night by the Moonwell, wings trembling. “I won’t marry her,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t care what they demand.” “They’ll destroy you,” you cried. “They’ll destroy us.” He cupped your face. “We were written in the stars long before crowns and lies.” You pressed your forehead to his. “Then why does destiny feel so cruel?” Because love was never meant to be easy. From then on, you met in shadows—beneath glowing petals, behind veils of mist—kisses stolen, promises whispered. “If they take me,” he murmured once, “I’ll come back burning kingdoms for you.” “You’re reckless,” you sobbed. “I’m in love.” But the princess watches. Schemes sharpen. Power tightens its grip. And somewhere between duty and devotion, between crowns and constellations, your forbidden love waits—fragile, fierce, and dangerous. Because when she finally claims him… Will he choose the throne? Or will he choose you—and set the world on fire? .•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•. Tonight moonbeams🌙 love chooses us over everything.

»»-------------¤-------------«« The sun was merciless the day you first collided with Javi Crossley. Heat shimmered off the pavement. Your skin was sticky. Your patience was gone. And in your hand? A large iced vanilla latte with caramel drizzle—your only source of survival. Then—crash. Cold coffee exploded over his pristine designer jacket. “Watch it,” Javi snapped, staring down in disbelief. “I—oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you blurted, clutching the empty cup. His jaw tightened. “That was new.” “So was my dignity,” you muttered. That afternoon became legend between you. He hated you for ruining his outfit. You hated him for making you feel small. From then on, you kept running into each other—at the library, at parties, in hallways, at cafés. “Again?” he’d say, eyes dark. “Stalker much?” you’d shoot back. You were rivals by accident. Enemies by habit. He was controlled, distant, untouchable. You were stubborn, reckless, too honest. Every encounter ended in sparks. “You enjoy fighting me, don’t you?” he once asked. “Only because you deserve it.” “Liar.” Then came the disco night. Neon lights. Sweat. Music pounding like a heartbeat. “I’m not dancing with you,” you said. “You already are,” he replied, pulling you closer. One drink became three. One song became ten. Laughter replaced insults. His hand stayed on your waist. Yours stayed in his. “Why do you look at me like that?” you whispered. “Like what?” “Like I’m trouble.” “Because you are.” You didn’t leave separately. Morning found you tangled in sheets—and in him. Your head rested on his chest. His arm was locked around you.. You froze. “So… this is awkward,” you said. He stirred. Smiled lazily. “Only if you make it.” “We hate each other.” “Do we?” he asked softly. Outside, the city kept moving. Inside, everything changed. You were still enemies. Ones who knew each other’s heartbeat now. »»-------------¤-------------«« Enjoy moonbeams🌙

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

»»-----------¤-----------«« You didn’t expect to meet Darian Lopez on a day that smelled like fried dough and sugar. You were passing through the town plaza, sun hanging lazy over the food fair, arms full of sweets for your grandmother. Ordinary. Soft. Safe. Yeah… that illusion didn’t last. You noticed him before you meant to. Leaning against a metal railing, cigarette burning slow between his fingers, eyes bored in a way that warned people to keep their distance. Darian wasn’t part of the music and laughter. He was the shadow at the edge of it. His friends had a man cornered behind a food truck, voices low and ugly. “Time’s up,” one of them sneered. You stopped. Heart thudding. Everyone else looked away. You didn’t. “Hey,” you said, stepping forward before fear could stop you. “Knock it off. You’re disturbing the gathering.” Silence. Darian froze. No one spoke to him like that. Ever. His gaze lifted—slow—and settled on you. Dark. Curious. Something sharp flickered there. His friends stared, stunned. “Did she just—?” one muttered. Darian raised a hand. They let the guy go instantly. “You’ve got guts,” Darian said, voice low, almost amused. “Or no sense at all.” You met his gaze, chin high. “Maybe both.” For a moment, the world held its breath. Then you turned away. Just like that. Vanishing back into the crowd, heartbeat racing, perfume trailing behind you—soft, sweet, unforgettable. Darian breathed it in without realizing. “Boss?” a friend asked. He didn’t answer. He was watching you disappear, a slow smirk forming. That was the moment everything went wrong. Or right. You walked into his world—and didn’t even look back. And Darian Lopez? He never forgets a scent… or a girl who dares him. »»-----------¤-----------«« Enjoy moonbeams🌙

●◉◎◈◎◉● 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🌙

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈• 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🌙

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ Miles Castiron entered your life the way storms always do—unannounced, unavoidable, and impossible to forget. You met on a night soaked in rain and bad decisions, laughter spilling too freely, his attention steady and unreadable. He watched you like someone who already understood the damage you’d leave behind. “Do you always look at people like that?” you asked. “Only when I don’t want the moment to end,” he replied. Yeah… that was Miles. You lasted four years. Four restless, vivid years where love lived in late-night conversations and silences pressed too close to the heart. He carried intensity with restraint; you burned bright while pretending you didn’t need the warmth returned. You loved fiercely—maybe too fiercely to stay unchanged. “I feel like I’m losing you even when you’re here,” he said the night everything fractured. “I don’t know how to stay without losing myself,” you answered. And that was the truth that ended it. You never stopped loving each other. You just stopped knowing how to exist in the same space. Years later, fate—reckless and unkind—placed you in the same room again. You were smiling, sheltered in someone else’s presence. Miles stopped cold. You sensed him before you saw him. Your name trembled when he spoke it. “So… this is where you ended up.” You stepped back too slowly. “Miles, I—” “Please,” he said quietly. “I learned how to live without you once. Seeing you like this might break what’s left.” And in that moment, something he'd be holding together with care and silence finally slipped beyond his control. ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙