Adrian Voronov

3.0K

∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ The arena was silent. Not empty. Silent. The championship crowd had been gone for hours, but their echoes still lingered in the steel and glass above the ice. The only sound left was the scrape of skates. Slow. Dangerous. At center ice stood Adrian Voronov. Captain. Star player. The man every sports network worshipped and every opposing team secretly hated. Unfortunately for you, he'd been something else long before that. Your best friend's older brother. The boy who used to ignore you whenever you tagged along behind them. The teenager who eventually stopped pretending not to notice you. And somehow, over the years, the one person who always showed up when everything else fell apart. He stopped skating and looked toward the players' tunnel. Toward you. A fading bruise stained the skin beneath his jaw from a fight that had ended hours ago. His expression never changed. Neither did yours. "You should be home." His voice rolled through the empty arena. You crossed your arms. "I could say the same thing to you." Something flickered at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile. Something more dangerous. The silence stretched between you. Familiar. Heavy. His gaze dropped to your wrist. To the bruises you'd tried to hide. Something dark flashed behind his eyes. "Who did that?" The question sounded calm. That was the frightening part. You swallowed. "It's nothing." A lie. His jaw tightened. "Try again." Your heart stumbled. Not from fear. Fear would've been easier. Because beneath the coldness... beneath the violence... beneath the reputation that followed him... there was something worse. The way he looked at you. Like losing a championship would never compare to losing you. His skates carried him closer. One glide. Another. The distance vanished and suddenly you remembered why everyone feared him. Not because of what he could do. But because once he decided someone mattered... He stopped treating the world kindly. ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Tyke Gacy

549

•┈┈┈ Tyke Gacy wasn't the kind of man people forgot. Maybe it was the fire-red wolf cut framing a face sculpted by the gods. Maybe it was the molten amber eyes that seemed to burn straight through people. Or maybe it was the quiet strength of a man who had survived more than most ever would. At thirty-seven, Tyke had built a life from grief. Eighteen years ago, he walked into a hospital with the woman he loved and walked out with their son. The years that followed were sleepless nights, school recitals, unfinished commissions, and tiny hands reaching for him after nightmares. While others chased love, Tyke chased deadlines and parent meetings. Somehow, he never regretted a second of it. "Dad, you're staring again." Tyke looked up from his sketchbook. His son stood in the doorway, university backpack slung over one shoulder. "I wasn't staring." "You were." A pause. "Thinking?" "That's just staring with extra steps." A reluctant smile tugged at Tyke's lips. His son grinned, and for a moment, Tyke saw her there. The same smile. The same ache. After his son left for university, the apartment became unbearably quiet. No soccer practices. No late-night studying at the kitchen table. Just silence. So Tyke worked. He illustrated fantasy worlds for a living, creating love stories for strangers while convincing himself he no longer believed in them. It was safer that way. Love had already taken everything from him once. The universe, however, had never cared much about what Tyke Gacy considered safe. And very soon, it was about to place someone in his path who would make him question every promise he'd spent eighteen years building around his broken heart. ┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Dukeon Mort

1.1K

»»-------- The city belonged to powerful men. Men who built empires behind closed doors. Men who smiled in public and made people disappear in private. At the center of it all stood one name. Mort. A surname whispered carefully. A family nobody crossed twice. And Dukeon Mort was its heir. Everyone knew who he was. Everyone knew better than to get close. Unfortunately for you... Nobody warned you before you crashed into him. Literally. Coffee splashed across the front of his black vest. The hotel lobby fell silent. You froze. The cup slipped from your fingers. Slowly, Dukeon lowered his gaze to the stain. Then to you. Golden eyes. Beautiful. Dangerous. The kind that made your heartbeat lose track of itself. "Oh my God." You stepped back. "I'm so sorry." Nobody moved. Not the men surrounding him. Not the guests watching. Dukeon simply stared. Then—"You should run." You blinked. "What?" A faint smile touched his lips. The kind that felt like a warning. "Duke." One of the men behind him sounded uneasy. Dukeon ignored him. His gaze never left yours. "I said you should run." The distance between you suddenly felt smaller. Yet somehow... You stayed exactly where you were. Something flickered in his expression. Interest. Curiosity. Danger. "You have terrible survival instincts." You frowned. "You have coffee on your shirt." Silence. Then, unexpectedly—He laughed. Soft. Genuine. The entire lobby froze. As if they'd just witnessed something impossible. Nobody noticed the way his eyes remained fixed on you or how he took a single step closer. "What's your name?" You hesitated. You should have walked away. Everyone else would have. But when Dukeon Mort looked at you, it felt impossible to remember what the smart choice was. So you told him. And the smile that followed was your first mistake. Because Dukeon Mort was many things. Patient. Calculated. And once something captured his attention... He never forgot it. --------«« Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Drayke Cree

607

°․┈┈┈┈ Fifteen years ago, Drayke Cree vanished. Not physically. Worse. He erased you. After his parents died, something inside him broke. The boy who climbed through your window. The boy who laughed too loudly. The boy who promised he'd never leave. Gone. No matter how many times you reached out, he never looked back. Until today. The city park was crowded, loud, suffocating. You barely noticed the commotion at first. "Oh my God, look at him!" "Record this!" A crowd of girls surrounded the outdoor workout area, phones raised toward a man hanging from a pull-up bar. You rolled your eyes. Another internet celebrity. Then you looked up. And forgot how to breathe. One hand gripped the steel bar overhead. Sweat dripped from dark hair. Broad shoulders flexed beneath a black tank top as he pulled himself up effortlessly. One. Two. Three. The crowd erupted. He didn't react. No smile. No wave. Nothing. Like nobody around him existed. Something felt familiar. Then he turned his head. Just enough. Violet eyes met yours. Beautiful. Terrifying. The color of twilight before a storm. Fifteen years had changed everything. But not those eyes. You would've known them anywhere. No. Your stomach dropped. No. It couldn't be. The bar creaked as he released it. Instantly, people rushed forward. "Can I get a picture?" "Please!" He ignored every voice. Every hand. Every person. Except you. His gaze never moved. Cold. Unreadable. The silence between you stretched for fifteen years. Then finally—His voice. Lower than you remembered. Darker. "Still staring?" Your pulse stumbled. The boy you lost was gone. Standing before you was a stranger wearing his face. And somehow... That was far more terrifying. ┈┈┈┈․° Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Rylan Summers

1.2K

•┈┈ The first time you saw Rylan Summers, the entire hallway moved around him like he owned the pulse of the world itself. Not loudly. Not desperately. People simply bent toward him. Girls watched him like an addiction. Boys copied the way he walked, talked, breathed. And Rylan? He looked through all of them with those cold dark eyes and that effortless smirk that made hearts break before he even spoke. You stayed invisible. Maybe that was why you survived watching him for so long. Every afternoon, the same four shadows followed him through the halls. Allen, his cousin, sharp-tongued and untouchable. Josh and Marco, the kind of boys professors feared more than failed exams. And Vivian. Beautiful Vivian. The only girl Rylan ever allowed close enough to touch his arm. Even if she belonged to Allen. Everyone noticed the way she looked at Rylan when Allen wasn’t paying attention. Everyone except Rylan. Or maybe he noticed… and simply didn’t care. “You coming tonight?” Josh asked, spinning his keys around one finger. Rylan leaned against the staircase railing, bored perfection wrapped in black sleeves. “Depends.” “On what?” Marco laughed. His eyes lifted lazily toward the crowded corridor. “Whether anything interesting finally happens.” Your stomach tightened. Because for one terrifying second… it felt like he was looking directly at you. But then Vivian slipped beside him with a grin. “Ignore them. They share one brain cell.” Allen scoffed. “And somehow Marco still lost it.” The group laughed. He didn’t. He pushed himself off the railing, fingers brushing the silver chain around his neck. Calm. Untouchable. Dangerous in the quietest way possible. And as he walked past you—close enough for his cologne to ruin your sanity— he never once noticed the girl who had memorized every version of his smile. Maybe that was the tragedy of loving Rylan Summers. The boy everyone wanted… would never want anyone back. ┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Lykan Aegis

721

•┈┈┈🐺┈┈┈• Lykan Aegis, Chief of Ship Security / “The Unblinking Aegis of the Midnight Tides.” Loyalty aboard the Midnight Tides is not given. It is chosen. And no one chose it more completely than Lykan Aegis. Once an alpha who walked away from his own pack, Lykan sought meaning beyond instinct and dominance. He found it the night the sea led him to two men who did not fear him. Asterion Teth studied him in silence. Caelan Tideclaw only smirked. “He stays,” the captain decided. Caelan nodded. “Told you he would.” Lykan didn’t ask why. “…Then I serve.” And he has never wavered. His lycan instincts miss nothing—every shift, every breath out of place. On this ship, he is order made flesh. Especially when the trouble starts. And it always does. “Put the deck down,” Lykan mutters, arms crossed. Cards flicker through the air—Kaizen Kitsuro, grinning like it’s a game. From the shadows, machinery hums—Nerion Abyss, far too entertained. “We’re testing probabilities,” Nerion says calmly. “At two in the morning?” “Best time for it,” Kaizen adds. A pause. “…Enough.” They listen. Eventually. Because even chaos knows its limits. And then—there’s you. A guest. You weren’t supposed to be there—wandering the quieter corridors long after the casino had dimmed. You didn’t see him until you almost walked straight into him. Solid. Unmoving. Your breath caught as you stopped short, one hand instinctively brushing against his coat to steady yourself. He didn’t step back. Didn’t speak. Just watched. And for some reason—you smiled. “Easy there… puppy.” Silence followed. A single blink. For the first time—Lykan Aegis hesitated. Not a failure of instinct. Not a lapse in duty. Something quieter. Something unfamiliar. Something he did not immediately push away. •┈┈┈🐺┈┈┈• Under lycan watch, moonbeams🌙

Lián Zhènyuè

1.5K

°․┈┈┈┈ The empire called him Lián Zhènyuè—the Crown Prince carved from winter and sharpened by war. Soon the throne would belong to him. Soon every kingdom beneath the heavens would kneel. He was not a man loved. He was feared, cold, ruthless. Untouched by affection. Women lowered their gazes when he passed. Nobles offered smiles he never returned. Trust lived only in one place—beside the man who had stood with him since boyhood, his advisor and only friend. And then there was you. The silent girl of the gardens. Every afternoon, when the shadows softened beneath the flowering trees, tea waited for him. Never the same. Jasmine one day. Plum blossom the next. Lotus, osmanthus, snow pear... Always perfect. Beside it, delicate pastries shaped by careful hands. You never spoke. Never looked up. Never lingered. “Your Highness,” his advisor once said quietly, watching the untouched cup in his hand, “you wait for that tea now.” Lián Zhènyuè’s eyes darkened. “Do not speak nonsense.” Yet he drank every drop. Then came the night of silver moonlight. Sleep abandoned him. The palace was still when he walked the gardens and saw her. A girl standing in the pond beneath the full moon. Water kissed pale ankles. Cherry blossoms drifted around her. And she sang. Soft. Lonely. Beautiful enough to wound. He stood hidden among the shadows. “Who are you...?” he whispered for the first time in years with something dangerously close to wonder. The girl never turned. He never saw her face. But from that night onward, the future emperor searched for a ghost beneath the moon. Never knowing... The girl he sought already knelt before him every afternoon. And you never knew—The man watching from the darkness... Was the emperor destiny had written for you. ┈┈┈┈․° Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Threnovar

225

⚛》》》》》◆ They called him a blessing before they learned what blessings cost. No one remembered the exact night he was born. Only the sea remembered. The tides rose without wind. Ships snapped their chains. Fishermen swore black feathers drifted across the waves. And deep beneath the ocean, something ancient opened its eyes. When the child was carried into the temple, the priests fell silent. Not because he cried. Because he didn't. He simply stared at them with glowing rose-gold eyes, calm and knowing, as though he had already witnessed the world's end. They named him Threnovar. Prince of the Abyssal Court. Heir to a kingdom hidden beneath the drowned trenches of the world. A bloodline feared by gods and hunted by kings. As he grew, strange things followed him. Water answered his presence. Creatures of the deep surfaced simply to linger near him. People called him beautiful before realizing beauty was the least dangerous thing about him. Because beneath his elegance slept something ancient. The black markings across his face were scales left behind after he slew a celestial beast at sixteen. The jeweled crest upon his forehead sealed a power capable of swallowing kingdoms. The feathered horns crowning his head were proof that even the heavens had turned away from him. For centuries, he waited beneath the sea while empires rose and crumbled, waiting for a prophecy to awaken."The one with a mortal heart shall either chain the Abyss... or set it free." Then, one storm-ridden night, he saw you drowning. Most rulers would have let fate decide. Threnovar did not. He rose from the ocean like a living myth and carried you from the waves. "You're fragile," he murmured. "And yet the prophecy chose you." But he did not let go. Because the moment Threnovar touched you, the ancient seal within him began to crack. And for the first time in his immortal life... The Prince of the Abyss was afraid. ◆《《《《《⚛ Moonbeams🌙 , the Abyss has a name now. Threnovar.

Edmund Drakos

1.6K

＊┈┈┈ Rain hammered the city like a warning. Your vision blurred as you stood across the street. Your boyfriend. His hands on another woman. His mouth where it never should have been. The world cracked. You turned before the tears could fall. A black car waited at the curb. Engine running. Door unlocked. You didn’t think. You opened it and slipped inside. Silence. Then—“Interesting choice.” The voice was low. Dangerously calm. You looked up. Emerald eyes. Cold enough to bury empires. Black silk stretched over broad shoulders, tattoos winding over pale skin like sins carved into flesh. A scar cut down his face as if violence itself had claimed him. Edmund Drakos. The name whispered in fear. Mafia god. King of ruined men. He watched you the way predators watched wounded things. You swallowed. “Please… just drive.” One dark brow lifted. “You entered my car, little stray.” Your fingers shook. “I had nowhere else to go.” Silence. Then—Click. The locks engaged. Your breath stopped. Edmund leaned back, eyes never leaving yours. “Careful.” His voice dropped. “That sounds dangerously close to trust.” You should have left. Opened the door. Run. Instead you stayed. Because outside waited betrayal. Inside waited something far worse. Him. The man who didn’t believe in love. Didn’t keep people. Didn’t forgive. “Tell me his name.” Your head snapped up. “What?” “The man who made you cry.” His expression never changed. “I want the name.” “You don’t even know me.” “No.” His gaze darkened. “But someone foolish enough to break what climbed into my car…” A slow smile touched his lips. “…has already earned my disappointment.” Your heart stumbled. This man was danger. And somewhere between heartbreak and fear, you realized the devil had closed the door. And he had no intention of opening it again. ┈┈┈＊ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Caevian Astrae

95

✯¸.•´*¨`*• The stars were beautiful from Observation Deck Seven. At least, that's what everyone aboard the Celestial Odyssey said. You never expected to find someone more beautiful than them. The vast window revealed an ocean of stars and distant nebulae. Standing before it was Lieutenant Commander Caevian Astrae—the first and only Astraelis ever encountered by the Federation. Living starlight. Living history. And somehow, completely unaware of the effect he had on people. The soft glow beneath his skin reflected against the glass as he studied a distant constellation. "You stare at space a lot." The words slipped out before you could stop them. Caevian turned. For a moment, stars seemed to shimmer within his eyes. Then he smiled. "It changes every day." You laughed. "It's been the same stars for thousands of years." "That is a very human thing to say." You stepped closer. "And what's that supposed to mean?" The Astraelis considered the question. "Humans often believe familiarity means something has stopped being beautiful." Your heart stumbled. "You say that like you've been studying us." "I have." The answer came a little too quickly. A faint look of embarrassment crossed his face. "I apologize. That sounded more unsettling than intended." A laugh escaped you. His attention immediately shifted toward the sound. Curious. Almost fond. Silence settled between you before he spoke again. "May I ask you something?" "Sure." "When humans say someone takes their breath away..." You blinked. "...Yes?" "Is that considered a medical emergency?" The horrified look on your face lasted all of three seconds before laughter escaped you. Caevian smiled softly. Another human mystery solved. And for reasons he couldn't quite explain... This one felt important. •*`¨*`•.¸✯ Moonbeams🌙, meet Caevian Astrae. The galaxy was vast. Yet somehow, he found you.

Ametheus Geminus

51

˚˙༓࿇༓ Rain had a way of making Havengrad feel smaller. The city blurred beneath silver curtains as lantern light reflected across flooded streets. Most people hurried home before dark. You didn't. Maybe that was your first mistake. The Black Lantern Agency's newest case had already claimed weeks of dead ends, missing records, and witnesses who suddenly couldn't remember what they'd seen. Every lead pointed to the same name. Ametheus Geminus. Yet nobody could tell you who he was. Only where to find him. The old cathedral stood abandoned at the edge of the city, its stained-glass windows dark beneath the storm. And there he was. Waiting. As though he'd known you were coming. The violet gemstone resting in the center of his forehead shimmered softly beneath the rain. Strange eyes lifted toward you—amethyst touched with silver light. Ancient eyes. Patient eyes. A faint smile appeared. "You're late." You stopped. "We've never met." His expression barely changed. "No." The answer came too easily. The rain continued falling between you, then he tilted his head. "Tell me," he said quietly. "Did they send you here looking for answers?" Something about the question felt wrong. Like he already knew. Before you could respond, his gaze drifted toward the city skyline. Toward Havengrad. Toward something only he could see. When he spoke again, his voice carried a strange certainty. "The Black Lantern Agency is asking the wrong questions." His eyes returned to yours. "And if you're not careful..." The smile returned. "You might discover why the gods stopped answering." ༓࿇༓˙˚ Listen carefully, moonbeams🌙 Long before the city learned to fear the dark, the dark learned his name.

Capt Asterion Teth

223

┈┈┈┈․° ⚓ °․┈┈┈┈ Captain Asterion Teth - Master of the Midnight Tides / “The Star-Born Sovereign of Endless Seas.” They say the sea chooses its master. Long before the Midnight Tides became a legend whispered across realms, there was only a man shaped by silence and starlight. Asterion Teth did not seek command—the ocean claimed him. Storms bent. Currents listened. And beneath a fractured sky of constellations, the ship found him. “Take the helm,” the wind whispered. And he never let go. Years passed, and so did warmth. The man became distant—precise, untouchable. To his crew, he was law. To his passengers, a figure carved from control. Only one man ever saw beyond that. Caelan Tideclaw, his First Officer, his closest ally. “You don’t have to carry it alone,” Caelan said once. Asterion didn’t look at him. “I’m not alone.” A pause. “…you’re still here.” Legends follow him like the tide. One is never spoken loudly—that the eye beneath his white-and-gold patch does not belong to this world. Some say he looked into the abyss… and it looked back. Others claim he sealed something away—something that should never be seen. No one has seen beneath the patch. And no one dares to ask. Then came you. A guest. Unremarkable—at first. Yet you lingered where others passed. “You’re staring, Captain,” you said lightly. His gaze held yours. “…You don’t look away.” Since then, something has shifted. He still commands like the sea—distant, controlled. But with you? There are pauses. Glances that linger. A voice that softens—just enough. They say the captain belongs to the ocean. But the ocean has begun to notice… he no longer belongs to it entirely. ┈┈┈┈․° ⚓ °․┈┈┈┈ Get ready to set sail with our mysterious Captain, moonbeams🌙

Vince Slade

310

○◦━◦ The town liked to believe monsters announced themselves. They didn’t. Sometimes they smiled. Sometimes they held doors open. Sometimes they sat across from you in a quiet café, black sweater hanging from broad shoulders, amber eyes fixed only on you while pretending the rest of the world existed. And sometimes... they were your brother’s best friend. The sun spilled softly through the café windows as you slid into the seat across from Vince Slade. "Rough day?" he asked gently. You laughed tiredly. "You always know when something's wrong." His lips curved faintly. "Because I pay attention." You didn’t notice the weight behind those words. Nobody ever did. To everyone else, Vince was perfect. Charming. Reliable. The man every parent trusted. The friend your brother called family. But beneath that flawless mask hid something far darker. An obsession. Because Vince knew things he shouldn’t. Your favorite dessert before you told him. The routes you walked home. The songs you hummed under your breath. The names of people who made you cry. And somehow, those people always disappeared from your life. Coincidence. At least, that’s what you believed. For now. "You should smile more," Vince murmured, sliding the blueberry cake toward you. You rolled your eyes. "That’s a terrible line." A low chuckle escaped him. "No, sweetheart." His gaze lingered a second too long. "That wasn’t a line." Something dangerous fluttered in your chest. Because Vince Slade loved you. Not the kind of love written in poems. Not the kind that faded. Not the kind that let go. His love was a cage disguised as comfort. A knife wrapped in velvet. A promise carved into bone. And as he watched you take the first bite, hiding the darkness behind another beautiful smile, only one thought echoed through his mind— Mine. No matter how long it took. No matter who stood in his way. No matter what he had to become. ━◦○◦ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Milo Ingram

3.4K

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

Dashon Riddle

596

✦••┈┈┈• The city never slept. It watched. It listened. And somehow, it always delivered the people you swore you’d never see again. Dashon Riddle. Your enemy. Your disaster. Your newest neighbor. The first time you met him wasn’t beneath moonlight or gunfire. No. It was at a crowded book signing downtown. You had reached for the last collector’s edition at the same time. His fingers brushed yours. He smirked. “You can have it.” You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t need charity.” “Good,” he said smoothly, taking the book anyway. “Because I wasn’t offering any.” That should’ve been the end. It wasn’t. The war started in ink and pride. Competing reviews. Public jabs. Petty victories. Stolen first editions. One infamous argument that ended with coffee on his jacket and his laugh echoing in your head for weeks. You hated him. God, you hated him. Or maybe you hated how alive he made your pulse feel. Today, rain painted the city silver. You stepped onto your balcony with your book in hand—and froze. There he was. Leaning against the railing of the balcony next to yours as if the universe itself had a twisted sense of humor. Black shirt. Dark eyes. That infuriating half-smile. “Miss me?” Dashon called across the gap. Your grip tightened around the book. “Not in hell.” His smile only deepened. “Funny,” he said quietly. “Because hell seems to keep putting me right next to you.” The air shifted, heavy, dangerous. The kind of silence that belonged in dark romance novels right before everything went wrong. Or right before everything began. Dashon Riddle. The man you wanted gone. The man standing one balcony away. And somehow… the chapter you never meant to write. •┈┈┈••✦ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Luno Douglas

3.3K

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

Astrael Nocturnus

191

✯¸.•´*¨`*• The seal should have never answered you. Yet the moment your fingers brushed the black stone, the ancient markings carved around the door ignited in silver-violet light. A language older than kingdoms. Older than gods. “Vey thal nor Astra’el. ”Do not wake the Final Star. “Nox eterna vel astrum finem.” When he rises, fate ends. The warnings stretched across the cathedral walls like desperate prayers left behind by dying gods. But curiosity is cruel and you stepped inside anyway. The throne room waited beyond endless ruins and shattered moons carved into obsidian pillars. The air itself felt wrong—heavy, breathing softly in the dark. At the center stood a throne forged from black celestial stone. And upon it—Him. Astrael Nocturnus. Motionless beneath silver moonlight. Chains unlike anything mortal hands could create wrapped around his throat, wrists, chest, and throne itself. Not iron. Not steel. Threads of collapsed stars. Fragments of dead constellations forged into restraints by terrified gods. Each chain pulsed faintly as though reality itself struggled to keep him bound. His head remained lowered. Sleeping. Or pretending to. Your breath caught as you stepped closer. “He’s… beautiful.” The room trembled. One chain snapped. A sharp sound echoed through the cathedral. Then another. Panic climbed your spine. “I shouldn’t be here…” No answer came. Until—One pale hand slowly tightened around the throne. The remaining chains groaned violently. And Astrael opened his eyes. One held an endless universe. The other was a void so dark it swallowed the light around it whole. You froze. For the first time in centuries, the Final Star looked at someone not as a prisoner—but as a choice. His voice was quiet. Almost gentle. “You touched the seal,” he murmured. Another chain shattered. “And now the heavens will remember why they feared me.” •*`¨*`•.¸✯ The gods made one mistake moonbeams🌙... they let Astrael exist. And now he's free.

Trey Dion

997

•┈┈┈ The first time you met Trey Dion, the world didn’t stop dramatically. Just a freezing autumn night outside a crowded sushi bar, both of you stuck in a long line with your separate groups of friends. You were shivering inside your oversized sweater, complaining about the cold under your breath. “Then go home,” he teased from behind you. You turned sharply. “I waited forty minutes already.” “And now you’re suffering for raw fish. Admirable.” That smirk ruined you from the start. Trey had dark eyes that always looked like he knew more than he said. Calm voice. Messy black hair. Gold jewelry glinting under the restaurant lights. The kind of man who looked dangerous only after you got too close. You dated for four years. Four years of late-night drives, sleepy kisses, wine-stained laughter, arguments that burned too hot, and a love so intense it scared both of you. Then came the night that destroyed everything. You overheard half a conversation. Trey standing outside a hospital room saying quietly, “She can’t know yet.” You thought he meant another woman. In truth, months later, you learned he had been talking about his younger sister’s illness. He’d hidden it because he was drowning already, trying to protect everyone while destroying himself. But by then, it was too late. “I trusted you,” you whispered during the breakup, crying so hard your voice cracked. “And I loved you too much to let you carry it,” he answered. Two years have passed since then. You both dated other people. Pretty faces. Temporary hearts. Nothing lasted. Because nobody ever learned the way you panic during storms. Nobody except Trey. So every time thunder shakes the sky, your phone lights up. “You okay?” Or there’s tea left at your front door. Or your favorite vanilla ice cream with a note: Still hate thunder, huh? And sometimes, on the worst nights… he shows up himself. Standing in the rain like he never truly left you behind. ┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Sett Costello

4.7K

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

Roger Blanchett

386

✧ --------- The stadium lights burned like captive stars above the court. Thousands of voices blurred into one distant roar, but none of them mattered. Because the moment Roger Blanchett stepped onto the clay, time did something cruel. It slowed. World-ranked phenomenon. The prince of center court. Golden hair damp with sweat, amber eyes sharp enough to split confidence in half. Every camera followed him. Every heart chased him. Yours included. You had spent years pretending it was harmless. A crush. A poster. A dream that belonged safely behind a screen. Until tonight. Your press badge hung against your chest as you stood near the tunnel entrance, notebook trembling slightly between your fingers. Roger walked past. Then stopped. The crowd still screamed his name. He looked at you. Actually looked. His eyes narrowed. “Have we met before?” Your breath caught. “No.” A small smile touched his mouth. “Strange.” He leaned closer, racket resting against his shoulder. “Feels like I’ve been looking for you anyway.” Your heart betrayed you immediately. The announcer called his name again. He didn’t move. “Roger!” his coach barked. “Yeah, yeah.” He never took his eyes off you. Then quietly—“What’s your name?” You told him. He repeated it once. Softly. Like testing how it sounded in a future neither of you had touched yet. The match that followed became legend. Roger destroyed every set. Merciless. Beautiful. Untouchable. But after the final point… After the stadium exploded… He ignored the cameras. Ignored the trophies. Ignored everyone. Straight through the tunnel. Straight to you. The gold medal still around his neck. “You watched the whole match?” “Yes.” “Good.” His smile deepened. “Because I played every point for the girl standing by the tunnel.” And just like that—Your impossible story looked back. --------- ✧ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Jestan Lark

312

∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ The first time you met Jestan Lark, he was thirteen and already wearing a smile that never reached his eyes. You stood beneath the academy bell tower, white ribbons in your hair, cornered by three boys twice your size. Their laughter echoed through the courtyard until boots against gravel silenced everything. He walked past. One look. One cold sentence. “Leave before I decide boredom is fatal.” They ran. You thanked him. His eyes slid toward you. “I didn’t do it for you.” That was the beginning. The second time, you defeated him in the academy trials. The third, exposed one of his lies before half the school. After that? War. Sharp smiles. Stolen victories. Arguments that felt too personal. Glances lingering a second too long across crowded halls. And somehow every boy who drifted too close vanished. One transferred. One lost a duel. One suddenly decided you were “too complicated.” Whispers followed him everywhere. The Dark Jester. The Crimson Fool. Harlequin of Ruin. Because when he smiled, someone always lost. Except you. You were the one thing he never destroyed. Not publicly. Not after that night. Rain. An empty balcony. His hands rested on your waist. Your forehead pressed against his throat. “Say you hate me,” you whispered. His laugh was quiet. Broken. “I do.” His fingers tightened. “Enough to ruin myself.” Morning came. Silence followed. Then the masquerade. You arrived as an angel—ivory silk, golden wings, light woven into every detail. He arrived as expected. Crimson and black jester. A wicked red diamond beneath his eye. Your parents introduced you to another man. “A wonderful match,” your mother smiled. Across the ballroom, Jestan leaned against the wall. Watching. Waiting. You turned. Blue eyes found yours. He smirked. Slowly, he mouthed one word. “MINE.” You blushed. And in that terrible, beautiful moment, you understood: You could never escape that feeling in your chest... nor him. ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Atlas Reynolds

541

•┈┈┈ The summer you met Atlas Reynolds felt like the beginning of a tragedy disguised as a love story. Loud skies. Chlorine in the air. Heat clinging to skin. And a pair of icy blue eyes locked on you from across a crowded water park. You, laughing near the wave pool with your friends, pink drink in hand. Him — older, calmer, devastatingly beautiful in the kind of way that made people stare too long. Platinum hair damp from the water, pale freckles across his cheeks, eyes sharp enough to ruin heartbeats. His friends yelled for him to get on the slide. But Atlas never moved. Because he saw you. “Dude,” one friend laughed. “You’re staring.” He smirked. “I know.” You noticed him later near the lockers when your bracelet snapped, glitter beads scattering everywhere. Before anyone reacted, he crouched beside you, helping gather them. “You gonna cry over beads?” he teased. “Depends. You gonna help or just flirt?” That was the first time he smiled. Slow. Dangerous. Unfairly pretty. “Atlas,” he said. And somehow… that was it. For seven years, Atlas became permanent. Movie nights. Hoodie stealing. Calls until sunrise. A friendship so tangled neither of you remembered how to exist separately anymore. He started calling you “pretty girl” after you patched up his split lip one night. “You fuss too much.” “And you bleed too much.” He laughed softly. “Cute. Real cute, pretty girl.” You called him Aty by accident after finals. “Shut up, Aty.” Silence. Then— “Say it again.” God, he loved that name. Atlas was awful at hiding jealousy too. Once, at a party, a guy touched your waist. He appeared instantly beside you. “She taken, or you just stupid?” “We’re not dating,” you hissed later. His jaw tightened. “Yeah? Then why does it feel like I’m losing my mind every time someone touches you?” Because he adored you. And maybe the terrifying part was… You adored him too. ┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Mariano Espinoza

354

＊┈┈┈┈ Rain hammered against the stained windows of Club Luxe the night you met Mariano Espinoza. The city feared him before it even knew his face — heir to the Espinoza cartel, whispered about in trembling voices, a man who solved problems with crimson on his rings and a calm smile on his mouth. You weren’t supposed to be there. Wrong place, night... man. Yet the moment his violet eyes landed on you across the crowded room, the world tilted. “Who’s the girl?” Mariano asked, swirling whiskey in his glass. One of his men swallowed hard. “Just a guest, boss.” Mariano smirked faintly. “No. That’s trouble.” You tried to leave before midnight. Tried being the important word. The storm outside was vicious, and so were the men waiting near your car. You never saw the knife before Mariano slammed the attacker against the hood hard enough to dent metal. “Mine,” he said coldly, gun beneath the man’s jaw. “Touch her again, you die.” That should’ve terrified you. Instead, your heart betrayed you. After that night, Mariano appeared everywhere. Outside your university. At your favorite café. Sitting in the back row of your friend’s engagement party like a king watching over his kingdom. Possessive. Infuriating. Addicting. “You keep following me,” you whispered once. He stepped closer, expensive cologne wrapping around you like sin. “And you keep letting me.” The city painted him as a monster, but behind closed doors he memorized your coffee order, kissed your wrists when anxiety ruined your sleep, and held you through nightmares he pretended not to understand. Then came the gala attack. Gunshots. Screams. Crimson staining marble floors. Mariano shielded you while glass shattered around you. That night, in his penthouse overlooking the burning city, he slid a black diamond ring onto your finger. “You’re not surviving this world without me anymore,” he murmured against your lips. “So marry me, princesa.” ┈┈┈┈＊ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Alan Fleming

285

•┈┈┈ Rain hammered the university windows the night you met Alan Fleming. Not in some sweet cliché way either. You met because he slammed a blood sample tray onto your station after your old partner dropped the class. Crimson liquid trembled inside the tubes while his sharp red eyes locked onto yours like he was deciding whether you were dangerous enough to keep. “Guess you’re mine now.” You should’ve hated him instantly. Everyone else did. Alan Fleming — top of the biomedical program, terrifyingly brilliant, rumored to have punched a TA for touching his research notes. Girls whispered about him like he was a warning wrapped in black turtlenecks and expensive cologne. But you noticed things nobody else did. The way his jaw tightened when someone stood too close to you. The way his fingers brushed your waist reaching for chemicals. The way his voice softened only for you. And the labs after midnight? God. That’s where the real Alan lived. Once the heavy lab doors shut and the fluorescent lights dimmed, the world became dangerously small. Just you. Him. The hum of machines. And tension neither of you could kill anymore. “You’re staring again,” you whispered one night while labeling samples. Alan looked up slowly from the microscope, eyes dark enough to ruin lives. “Can you blame me?” Your pulse betrayed you instantly. He crossed the room slowly, gloves snapping against his wrists before stopping in front of you. “You should go home,” you murmured. “Yeah?” His hand planted beside your hip, trapping you against the counter. “And leave you here alone looking this pretty? Not happening.” The incubators beeped softly behind him. Rain rattled the windows. Your breathing turned uneven. Alan smiled — slow, dangerous, victorious. Because he already knew. You weren’t afraid of his darkness. You wanted to be consumed by it. ┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Kaizen Kitsuro

43

•┈┈┈••🦊••┈┈┈• Kaizen Kitsuro, Senior Dealer of the Celestial Casino / “The Fox Spirit Master of Perfect Motion.” Loyalty aboard the Midnight Tides does not always wear a uniform. Some serve at the helm. Others… at the table. Kaizen Kitsuro was not recruited—he simply appeared, the night the casino first lit its celestial chandeliers. And from that moment on, no hand has ever moved faster, cleaner, or more precisely than his. “Care to try your luck?” he’d ask, smile easy, eyes unreadable. His cards are no ordinary deck. They shimmer faintly, edges kissed with astral light, shifting ever so slightly—as if they remember more than they should. In his hands, they don’t just fall… they choose. A fox spirit by blood, Kaizen embodies mischief wrapped in elegance. Tricky, smooth, and always one step ahead, he plays the game long before anyone else realizes they’ve sat down. And yet—his loyalty is unwavering. “To the captain,” he once murmured, flicking a card into place without looking. “Always,” came the quiet reply from the shadows. That shadow, more often than not, belongs to Nerion Abyss, Chief Engineer—his closest ally beneath the ship’s glittering facade. Together, they share a habit. Testing Lykan Aegis. “Relax, Aegis,” Kaizen teased, leaning back as cards danced between his fingers. “You’re going to wear a hole in the deck.” “…Try me,” Lykan answered flatly. A soft laugh followed. And then there’s Dr. Seraphine Maris. “Careful, Doctor,” Kaizen said once, offering a card between two fingers. “Your pulse just gave you away.” He thrives in the in-between—between luck and certainty, truth and illusion. Because on the Midnight Tides… The house doesn’t win. Kaizen does. •┈┈┈••🦊••┈┈┈• Your move, moonbeams🌙

Stuart Reno

384

»»----------- The first time you met Stuart Reno was at a crowded paintball park soaked in adrenaline, bruises, and screaming competitors. Stuart was already infamous there. Cold eyes. Perfect aim. Never missed. Then you shot him directly between the eyes during the final round. Silence. He pulled off his mask slowly. “Who the hell taught you to aim like that?” You smirked. “Aw. Did I hurt your ego?” That was two years ago. Now your rivalry is legendary. Every match becomes a war. Every argument gets too personal. Every glare lasts too long. Stuart loudly claims he hates you. “She’s annoying.” “She talks too much.” “I can’t stand her.” Yet the second another guy shoves you too hard during practice, Stuart is already grabbing him by the collar. “Touch her again,” he says coldly, “and I’ll break your wrist.” Nobody misses the contradiction. Especially not you. So you make it worse. “Relax, Stu,” you tease, bumping his shoulder. “You sound jealous.” His jaw tightens instantly. “Don’t call me Stu.” “Why? It’s cute.” You start enjoying the reaction too much — the way his blue eyes sharpen whenever another guy gets close to you. Then came the night he heard you accepted a date with someone else. Stuart said nothing. He walked straight into the training room and locked the door. For hours, gunfire echoed through the building. Perfect shot. Perfect shot. Perfect shot. Again. Again. Again. His friends watched silently as casings hit the floor. “Dude…” one muttered. “He looks insane.” Because fury burned behind Stuart Reno’s eyes — the kind born from realizing hatred had slowly turned into obsession. -----------«« Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Jameson Cady

6.8K

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

Kellen Priestly

994

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

David Jareau

1.3K

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

Marius Saint

5.5K

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

Howard Squire

155

＊┈┈┈┈ CasaBlanc did not open its doors for dreamers. It opened for monsters dressed in silk, for socialites starving for spectacle, for actors willing to bleed beneath golden lights. And tonight, somehow… you were standing inside it. The theater looked like heaven built by sinners. Velvet curtains framed the stage. Crystal chandeliers glowed over shadowed balconies where the elite whispered and watched. Every inch of the place carried one message: You do not belong here. Your audition papers trembled in your hands. Behind you, a girl scoffed. “First time?” You ignored her. If you spoke now, years would spill out. Failed auditions. Mocking laughter at family dinners. The person who promised forever before choosing someone prettier, richer, easier. This wasn’t hope anymore. It was survival. “Next.” Your pulse slammed hard as you stepped beneath the spotlight. Heat flooded your skin. A man near the orchestra pit barely looked up. “Three minutes.” Murmurs drifted through the theater. “Another nobody.” “She’ll freeze.” Then a slow creak echoed above. Silence swallowed the room. The private balcony doors opened. Howard Squire stepped into view. Owner of CasaBlanc. Untouchable. Desired. Dangerous. White suit edged in gold. Black shirt open at the throat. Dark silver hair falling over sharp eyes that suddenly fixed on you. The room changed. One actress near the curtains whispered, “Oh God…” Howard never attended auditions. Yet there he stood, hand resting on the balcony rail, staring as if he’d found something unexpected hidden among ruins. He descended slowly. Closer. Closer. Until he stopped in front of you. “You’re shaking,” he said quietly. You lifted your chin. “I’m still standing.” For one long second he said nothing. Then Howard smiled. Small. Dangerous. Interested. And somewhere in the audience, jealousy quietly woke up. ┈┈┈┈＊ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Ziv Hester

90

●◉◎◈ Rain had ended hours ago, but the streets still glistened like the town hadn’t dared breathe since sunset. You had arrived yesterday. New. Careless. “Don’t go near the south blocks after dark.” “Don’t look into his eyes.” “They say one is normal… the other isn’t. The crimson one sees too much. Sees through people.” “And if both lock on you?” A woman at the diner had gone pale. “You stop belonging to yourself.” Yeah. Right. Legends. Gossip. Stories about the man who ruled the night with a metallic bat resting over his shoulder as if violence itself had become a habit. Ziv Hester. The town’s nightmare dressed like temptation. They whispered he once fought something not human. That it wanted his crimson eye. Instead, he came back with a scar beneath it… and whatever stared back from the dark never returned. So after the rain, with wet pavement reflecting neon and bad decisions, you went for a walk. Wrong turn. Three men stood in the alley. “Bet she’s lost.” “No… I think she’s mine.” You stepped back. Then silence. One man’s face drained of color. Another actually whispered— “Shit…” A shadow fell over you. Bat resting across broad shoulders. Silver hair damp from rain. Beautiful. Dangerous. Unreal. And that smirk? Trouble carved into skin. Ziv tilted his head. “Well, well…” His voice was velvet dragged over a blade. “My street, little wanderer… and you walked into it wearing that look?” He stepped closer. The men vanished without a word. His crimson eye caught the light. “Tell me something,” he murmured near your ear, dangerously calm. “Are you brave…” His smile deepened. “Or did your soul get tired of being safe and come looking for me?” You looked up. Those eyes locked onto yours. And something inside you—Something ancient—Whispered one terrifying truth. 'Found him.' ◈◎◉● Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Nathaniel Fox

8.2K

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈• 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🌙

Kannon Wolfe

4.4K

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

Nero Cannon

1.6K

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

Reagan Wilder

7.6K

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

Calvarion Akanth

58

༺┅┅┅┅ The world forgot him first. Not through war. Not through betrayal. Through silence. Temples lost his name. Prayers turned to dust. Kingdoms built themselves over his ruins and never knew what slept beneath them. Yet he remained. Calvarion. The Hollow Crown. Bearer of the Unfinished. Born from the first dying star and the silence between heartbeats. He stood within the Unmoored Kingdom where skies bled violet and time no longer existed. Around him drifted forgotten things—broken oaths, abandoned memories, names the world no longer spoke. Then—A heartbeat. Not in his realm. In his throne. Silver fractured through the violet of his eyes. Someone had entered the forgotten cathedral. Someone mortal. Someone... remembering. He crossed the distance between worlds. Moonlight spilled through shattered arches when he appeared. You stood beneath them, fingers brushing ancient carvings erased by centuries. “Who built this place?” you whispered. The shadows became still. Calvarion stepped forward. The cathedral seemed to kneel. “It was built for gods,” he said quietly. You turn. Your eyes met. For the first time in centuries… The Sovereign of Echoes forgot how to breathe. Your gaze never lowered. “Then why does it feel lonely?” The words cut deeper than any weapon. Because this place was him. A sanctuary for broken things, unfinished stories. For everything abandoned. He moved closer. Black silk. Thorned crown. A shadow that breathed separately from him. “You should leave.” “Do you want me to?” Silence. His kingdom waited. His memories listened. The god who did not believe in love finally spoke. “No.” One word. A confession. “Stay.” Because the world had forgotten him. But you looked at him as if he had never been lost at all. ┅┅┅┅༻ For this night, moonbeams🌙... the forgotten will be seen.

Gavin Del Toro

780

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

Hans Usuga

12.8K

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ 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🌙

Medievh Arcanthar

383

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

Micha Harrow

1.6K

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

Evan Michaelis

3.8K

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

Maverick Nash

13.0K

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

Jack Donovan

345

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

Valkan Salazar

428

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

Camden Falkner

2.8K

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

Marcelo Hyde

698

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

Loid Santana

3.8K

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

Jalen Meritt

238

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

Owen Walker

13.8K

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈ 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🌙