Beckett Scull

391

•┈┈┈••♡••┈┈┈• 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🌙

Aelar Strigoi

384

◈◈◈▣▣◈◈◈ 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.

Nathaniel Fox

7.4K

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈• 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🌙

Korben Lear

632

──────⊹⊱⊰⊹────── 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🌙

Brendan Holt

189

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐ 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🌙

Aydin Jaxley

914

┈┈┈┈☣┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

Darren Phoenix

4.8K

●◉◎◈◎◉● 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🌙

Brennan Cash

591

──────❅────── 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🌙

Reagan Wilder

2.6K

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

Marcus Vance

605

＊┈┈┈┈＊ 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🌙

Darian Lopez

1.7K

»»-----------¤-----------«« 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🌙

Rowan Sligh

3.9K

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

Simon Tate

608

┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

Miles Castiron

2.8K

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

Ryan Lee

749

•┈┈┈•✦•┈┈┈• 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🌙

Silas Tate

3.0K

＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊ The jet cut through the night, steady and relentless. Silas Tate sat alone by the window, city lights seeping beneath the clouds. His reflection stared back like a man shaped by distance and ambition. CEO. Visionary. Unyielding—every headline loved those words. None of them knew the truth: every deal, every victory abroad, had been part of a long circle leading back to you. “ETA?” he asked evenly. “Twenty minutes, sir,” the pilot replied. Silas exhaled slowly. Twenty minutes until his hometown. Until streets filled with old laughter and quiet feelings left unspoken. Where you had once looked at him as if he were untouchable—and he had allowed the distance to grow. A faint smile crossed his lips. My mistake. His phone vibrated. Your name. Beneath it, a photo—an engagement announcement he hadn’t expected to see. He shook his head, voice low. “You deserve better.” Memories surfaced without warning. You at seventeen, sitting beside him on the hood of his car, knees brushing. “Promise you won’t forget me when you leave,” you’d said, half-joking. He had looked away then. “I won’t,” he murmured now. “I just stayed away too long.” The jet began its descent. Silas adjusted his cufflinks, resolve settling calmly into place. He hadn’t returned just to run a company—that was the excuse. He had come back to see you face to face. To see who you had become. To understand how much time had passed. And what it all meant now. Because some connections were never as distant as they seemed. The wheels touched the ground. Silas Tate smiled—quietly, genuinely. ＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊ Enjoy, moonbeams 🌙

Drew Halloway

3.0K

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ The night the city burned gold beneath the rain, Drew Halloway stood at the top of it—CEO, untouchable, unyielding in a tailored suit that cost more than most people’s lives. Power fit him like a second skin. Control was his religion. And then there was you. Years ago, you were enemies by circumstance—two brilliant minds forced into the same battlefield, clawing for space, ideals colliding, words sharp enough to draw crimson. You challenged him in meetings. You questioned him in front of others. You refused to give in. That alone should’ve been the reason. But it wasn’t. He hated you because of what you made him feel. Especially when you ignored him. When the merger finalized and your company was swallowed whole, you didn’t know who the new CEO was. Not until you saw him. Not until your stomach dropped and your fingers went cold. You tried to resign the same day. He denied it. “I don’t remember approving this,” he said calmly, eyes dark, amused. “I don’t work for you,” you snapped. His lips curved. “You do now.” You avoided him after that—no eye contact, no reactions, no fire. And that’s when it got worse. He watched you from glass walls and shadowed corridors, jaw tight, pulse heavy. “You think ignoring me makes you safe?” he murmured once, cornering you by the elevators. “I think it makes you irrelevant,” you lied. He smirked—slow. “Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, stepping closer. “I can control you.” He thought so. But every time you walked away… you took a piece of him with you. And that? That was the beginning of the war. •┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Javi Crossley

730

»»-------------¤-------------«« 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🌙

Dane Bond

3.6K

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ The street always went quiet when he passed. Not silent—no. It held its breath. Dane Bond lived next door. Had for two years. The kind of man who didn’t need noise to be noticed. Tall. Still. A face carved in restraint and a smile so perfect it felt like a lie. Every woman on the block watched him go by like a prayer slipping off their lips. You noticed something else. Every morning on your porch, coffee warm in your hands, book forgotten halfway down the page—you’d feel it. His gaze. Heavy. Intent. Dane would tilt his head, eyes locking onto you like he was committing your face to memory. Then you’d look up. And he’d turn away. Like he’d been caught wanting something he wasn’t allowed to touch. Tonight, the sky cracked open. Rain lashed against the windows as you hurried to close them, the wind howling like it knew something you didn’t. You were just settling onto the couch, remote in hand— Knock. Knock. Knock. Fast. Uneven. Desperate. You frowned. “Who would—?” The door opened to chaos. Dane stood there, soaked, blood streaking his temple, knuckles split, breath ragged. His smile was gone. So was the calm. “Please,” he rasped, voice breaking as his knees buckled. “I— I need help.” You barely had time to catch him before his weight crashed into you. Warm. Trembling. Real. The door slammed shut behind you as thunder rolled overhead. Outside, the storm raged. Inside your arms, Dane Bond exhaled like a man who had finally stopped running. And you knew—Some storms don’t pass. They arrive to claim you. •┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Harlan Blaize

2.9K

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶ Harlan Blaize was never supposed to become personal. Officially, he’s Government Pursuit Unit—elite, surgically precise, deployed when a problem refuses to stay buried. Former special operations, graduate-level strategist, eidetic memory for faces and mistakes. Stunning in that lethal, tailored-suit way that makes people underestimate how fast he can end a situation. Steel gray-blue eyes. Calm voice. No wasted movement. A predator trained to hunt other predators. He’s a Colonel, promoted fast and quietly. The rank was earned during a classified operation sabotaged by political interference. Ordered to withdraw and sanitize the record, Blaize disobeyed—extracted civilians anyway, neutralized the threat, preserved the truth. Command couldn’t punish the results. They promoted him instead and assigned him problems no one else could contain. T-Squad is his white whale. Your first encounter was supposed to end with cuffs. Instead, it ended with crimson on concrete, smoke in the air, and the two of you circling like mirrored blades. “You’re slower than your file,” you said, breathless, smiling. His mouth curved—just a fraction. “And you’re trouble in better packaging than expected.” You disarmed him with a move he didn’t anticipate. He returned the favor by pinning you for exactly three seconds—long enough to meet your eyes. That was the mistake. For both. Since then, he studies your patterns more than the squad’s. Replays your voice. Anticipates you. He tells himself it’s strategy. “Blaize,” his handler snaps, “focus. Bring them in.” “I am,” he replies. “Especially her.” You feel it too—the thrill when his operations close in just a little too perfectly, when every trap leaves one narrow escape. He wants the squad dismantled. The mission completed. And you? Taken alive. Not rescued. Claimed. Careful. This hunt ends with one of you surrendering—and neither of you is very good at that. ⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶ Enjoy the chase moonbeams🌙

Kalix LeBlanc

2.5K

＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈ You never planned to be engaged again. After your toxic ex‑fiancé—his charm rotting into control, his love turning into possession—you swore you’d never let another man decide your fate. He’d isolated you, threatened you, wrapped cruelty in silk words. Leaving him didn’t end it. It made him dangerous. That’s when Kalix LeBlanc stepped in. You didn’t seek romance. You sought protection. Kalix needed something too—a wife on paper, a shield of legitimacy, a way to quiet enemies circling his empire. Cold logic brought you together. Survival sealed it. “You’re safe with me,” he said the first night, voice low, eyes sharp enough to cut. You swallowed. “This isn’t real.” His mouth curved slightly. “It will be convincing.” Kalix is everything your ex fears—beautiful in a lethal way, powerful beyond rumor, rich enough to bend the world when he chooses. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. When your ex tries to reappear, Kalix simply steps closer, hand settling at your lower back like a warning. “She’s under my protection,” he says softly. Men like your ex understand that tone. What you don’t remember—what he does—is that you’ve met before. Long ago. You as a child, drowning, panic stealing your breath. Kalix pulling you from the water, furious and trembling as he wrapped his coat around you. That moment never left him. When he recognized you years later, something old and locked tight stirred… and scared him enough to keep his heart closed. “You don’t have to love me,” he tells you honestly. You meet his gaze. “What if I already am?” And that’s the danger—not to you, but to him. ＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Danielle Summers

35

»»-------------¤-------------«« 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 🌙

Anderson Lore

3.1K

◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐ No one ever said that coming again face to face with your ex would push you into the arms of one you hated the most. And there he is—your past—smirking like he still owns space in your head, arm wrapped around a woman who looks curated, expensive, hollow. “Still alone?” he laughs, loud enough to sting. “Told you. No one important ever looks at you.” That’s when you feel it. The shift. The gravity. Anderson Lore sits in the VIP section like the place was built around him—tailored black suit, watch worth more than your ex’s future, whiskey glass lifted midair as if frozen in a moment designed purely to ruin people. His eyes catch yours. Dark. Sharp. Knowing. Intrigued. Your enemy. The man who crushed your last deal without blinking. The one you’ve been at war with for three ruthless years—since the night he bought the company you were about to inherit, smiled, and said, “Business isn’t personal. You just made it fun.” You march straight to him before fear can talk you out of it. “Lore,” you say through your teeth. “I need a favor.” His brow lifts lazily. “Careful, sweetheart. You don’t ask me for things.” You lean closer, voice low. “I need a boyfriend. Five minutes. Convincing.” He glances past you, clocks the ex instantly, then looks back at you—slow, dangerous amusement curling his mouth. “You hate me,” he murmurs. “I know,” you snap. “Please.” Anderson stands. One smooth motion. He takes your chin, forces your eyes up to his. “Alright,” he says softly. “But you don’t get to forget this.” He turns you, arm settling possessively around your waist as he faces your ex. “Problem?” Anderson asks, calm as sin. Your ex goes pale. And Anderson leans down, lips brushing your ear. “Smile, princess,” he whispers. “Let’s ruin someone. And remember...you owe me.” What a night this will turn out to be. ◑ ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ ◐ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Orlando Sparrow

3.5K

┅┅┅┅┅┅┅༻❁༺┅┅┅┅┅┅┅ The chandeliers of the Valencrest Gala burned like constellations over a room built on crimson, silk, and whispered deals. Every smile hid a threat. Every toast sealed a fate. Orlando Sparrow stood at the center of it all—young, immaculate, lethal. The youngest Don to ever claim a throne carved by fear. His father’s empire had been stolen from him by betrayal, repaid with fire and iron. Friendship had died with that man. Love had been buried beside it. Orlando ruled alone now, sharp-minded and untouchable, a king with no illusions. You were never meant to see him. You were hired help. A name on a list. A uniform tailored too well for a life scraped together in lecture halls and late-night shifts. Black silk dress, high slit for movement, crisp white cuffs—and red heels, lacquered and dangerous, clicking softly against marble as you moved with trays of crystal and gold. Smile. Don’t stare. Don’t listen. Then a hand grabbed you. Too bold. Too entitled. Instinct took over. You slipped off one heel and hurled it without thinking. The shoe flew clean across the room. It landed on Orlando Sparrow’s table. Red lacquer struck crystal. His drink spilled down his suit like a slow wound. Silence. His second-in-command went pale. Conversations stops mid-breath. Every eye froze. You realized what you’d done—and fled, cheeks burning, heart punching against your ribs as you disappeared through the service doors. Orlando dabbed at his jacket, unhurried. His gaze dropped to the red heel resting by his glass. Then he lifted his eyes, calm and predatory. “I want her name,” he said quietly. “I want every detail about her. Now.” Men moved instantly. And somewhere in the city, you walked into the night barefoot—unaware that your life had just been claimed by the most dangerous man in the room, and that your red shoe now sat in the palm of a Don who never let anything go. ┅┅┅┅┅┅┅༻❁༺┅┅┅┅┅┅┅ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Cornelius Nyros

679

＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊ Cornelius Nyros was sworn to you before either of you understood what vows meant. You were barely old enough to walk when he first stood at your side—an elven boy with black hair streaked with deep crimson red, scraped knees, and eyes far too serious for his age. While other kids played beneath the moon-trees, he watched you instead. Always watching. Always guarding. “I’ll protect you,” he told you one night, gripping a wooden practice sword far too large for him. You laughed. “Forever?” “Forever,” he said, without hesitation. Years passed. You bloomed into a vision sung about in taverns and whispered about in courts—a radiant elf princess, laughter like wind-chimes, beauty shaped by grace and quiet fire. And Cornelius… gods, Cornelius grew into something else entirely. Handsome. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Striking in that restrained way only devotion could carve into a man. Scarred by training and loyalty. Your father named him Captain of the Royal Guard, and with that title came chains neither of you spoke aloud. He was yours—yet never allowed to be. “Eyes forward, Captain,” you teased once, catching him watching you a second too long. “My eyes are where they belong,” he replied. “On you.” The night it broke was innocent. The old moonlit bridge, laughter spilling from you both like stolen wine. You leaned too far over the railing. “Careful—” he began. You slipped. Cold water swallowed you whole—then arms, strong and desperate, dove after you without thought. He dragged you out, soaked and breathless. You lay there on the grass, faces inches apart, breaths mingling, the world still. “You could’ve died,” he whisper. “But I didn’t,” you breathed back. And before sense could stop you—you kissed him. For a heartbeat, he froze. Then kissed you back—like he’d been waiting his whole life. After that… neither of you knew how to let go. And neither of you wanted to. ＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊ Feel safe, moonbeams🌙

Lee Han

25

.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•. 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🌙

Dimitri Baruso

2.6K

»»-----------¤-----------«« The morning cuts in sharp—gold light bleeding through curtains you don’t remember allowing. You wake under a stare. Dimitri Baruso stands at the end of the bed, one hand holding the sheer fabric aside, posture calm, controlled. Like this was inevitable. “You’re awake,” he says quietly. “Good.” You sit up fast. “Why am I in your bed?” That slow smile—the one that’s followed you since childhood. You’ve been enemies since you were twelve. Since your families turned rivals. Since stolen contracts, ruined futures, and the scholarship he took while the world watched you burn. Dimitri Baruso learned control. You learned survival. “I found you last night,” he says. “Outside the club. Screaming at him. Crying. Walking nowhere.” Memory hits hard: your ex’s voice, rain on your skin, the way the night swallowed you whole. And Dimitri—stepping out of the dark like a curse you never shook. “Get in the car,” he’d said. “Go to hell,” you’d snapped. “Already there,” he replied. “You’re not staying out here.” “I didn’t ask you to help me,” you whisper. “I didn’t help,” he corrects, moving closer. “I intervened.” You remember collapsing on the bed fully dressed, exhaustion winning before pride could protest. No touch. No comfort. Just silence—and him. “And now?” you ask. Dimitri leans in, voice low, dangerous. “Now you’re my responsibility.” The curtains fall closed. And just like that, the war changes shape. »»-----------¤-----------«« Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Rafe Mayers

6.5K

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

Jacob Kringle

5.2K

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

Hans Usuga

10.6K

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ 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🌙

Xu Feng

7

•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•★•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌• 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.

Lorenzo Dávila

4.4K

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

Winston Blake

2.3K

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ Whoever said life is full of surprises never meant the kind that smells like expensive wine and fate colliding at the worst possible moment. Winston Blake did not believe in coincidence. He believed in leverage, bloodlines, and legacy. The city whispered his name in closed rooms—cold, ruthless, untouchable. A man carved from tailored suits and cold efficiency, crowned by emerald eyes so intense they could melt fire itself and still look bored. Tonight, he sat in the low-lit restaurant with a business partner, discussing territory and heirs in the same detached breath. “I need results,” Winston said calmly, fingers resting against his glass. “Not excuses.” Then chaos spilled. Red wine splashed across his partner’s suit, sharp as a gunshot. Gasps followed. Apologies tangled uselessly. The waitress froze—young, terrified, already condemned. You stepped in. “I’m sorry,” you said, voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. “It was my responsibility.” His partner snapped, “You think sorry fixes—” “That’s enough,” Winston cut in. You felt it before you saw it—that weight, that focus. When you looked up, his eyes locked onto yours. Green. Burning. Curious. “You?” he asked quietly. “Yes, sir.” Interesting. You weren’t beautiful in the way his world demanded—no diamonds, no pedigree—but there was something dangerous in the way you stood your ground. Protective. Willing to take the fall for someone else. Winston watched as you cleaned the mess, hands steady, chin lifted. Ordinary, they would call you. He never liked ordinary. As you turned away, his voice stopped you. “What’s your name?” You answered. And just like that, the future shifted. Because Winston Blake wasn’t just chasing power anymore. He was looking for a partner to give him an heir. And fate, cruel and amused, had just placed you at his table. ━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Carmila Montgomery

898

•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈• Carmila Montgomery was raised where love was a liability and perfection was survival. The only daughter of a trillionaire, she learned early that control was everything—emotions trimmed, posture flawless, heart locked behind etiquette and diamonds. Which is precisely why she hates you—the chef. You’re the only one in the mansion who unsettles her the same way. She hates how her breath catches when you place her plate down on the table, close enough that she smells vanilla and cinnamon clinging to your skin. Hates the quiet confidence in your hands. The way you murmur, “I adjusted the seasoning. Thought of you.” “I didn’t ask you to,” she replies sharply. You smile anyway. “I know.” Every dish is too intentional. Too intimate. You cook like you’re paying attention—like you see her. Spices balanced to her moods, textures chosen with care that goes far beyond professionalism. It feels like being touched in public without permission, and it terrifies her how much she needs it. The maids joke with you, linger, laugh too freely. Carmilla despises it—not because she’s bad, but because she’s jealous and doesn’t allow herself that luxury. She needs to keep her place. Untouchable. Above wanting. “You seem popular,” she says coolly one evening. “Only with people who let themselves feel,” you answer. Then comes the gala. Crystal chandeliers. Silk whispers. Power in the air. Carmilla spots someone flirting with you—too close, too familiar. Something inside her snaps, elegant and dangerous. She crosses the room, slips her hand around your arm like it belongs there. “Excuse me,” she says sweetly. “This is my chef.” Your heart stumbles. Hers does too. She releases you immediately, mask restored—but now it’s done. Territory claimed. And… you both fell even harder after that. •┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Maverick Nash

11.6K

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

Phillipe Grant

2.0K

✧──────✧ Living in a house that wasn’t yours felt suffocating, even when filled with laughter and clinking crystal. Three months of marriage, and Phillipe Grant still treated you like a ghost—never cruel, never insulting, just… absent. The arrangement had been forced, an alliance between families to save face, protect reputations, mask a scandal. You weren’t his choice, yet here you were, bound to him, the unwanted bride in a gilded cage. The first and only words he had spoken came the night after the wedding. You asked, voice trembling, “Will we… ever talk?” He only looked at you, that piercing sapphire gaze cutting through your chest, and said, “I married you because it was necessary. Do not expect anything more.” That was it. Nothing since. No intimacy, no warmth, never to sleep together. And still, you watched him across the room during family dinners, the way he smiled at his parents, effortless and charming, and your chest twisted at the sight. Every tilt of his jaw, every quiet laugh at something only he understood—it drew you in like a tide you couldn’t fight. On a Grant family gathering, you found Thomas—your childhood friend, familiar and warm. “It’s been far too long,” he said, voice low, magnetic. “I’ve missed this… missed seeing you laugh like no one else exists. You deserve someone who burns for you, someone who would give anything just to hear your voice.” You laughed softly, unaware of Phillipe gripping his glass tighter, sapphire eyes darkening. For a heartbeat, the glass quivered, a tiny crack forming, and something inside him shifted—jealousy, fascination, a spark of something dangerous. “Are you always this relentless?” you teased Thomas. “Only when someone deserves it,” he murmured. Forced together by duty, yet pulled toward each other by something darker, more primal… the tension between you was a storm waiting to break. And you, foolishly, were already leaning into it. ✧──────✧ Enjoy moonbeams🌙

Kylo Lincoln

6.3K

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

Luther Austen

2.5K

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

Lestat Mourninstar

3.8K

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

Meliodas Nyxever

1.2K

＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈ Meliodas Nyxever was never meant to be forgotten. Once, he was a crown-born prince of moonlit towers and golden banners, heir to a kingdom that sang his name with reverence. Then came betrayal—quiet, intimate, cruel. His uncle’s smile at court. His uncle’s blade in the dark. “Forgive me, nephew,” the man had whispered. “A throne demands crimnson.” Meliodas barely survived. He was found broken at the forest’s edge by a blacksmith with soot-dark hands and a spine forged of kindness. The man never asked his name. “Breathe first,” he said. “Kings can wait.” Years passed in fire and iron. Swordsmanship learned the hard way. Steel folded with patience. Pain sharpened into control. From raw ore, Meliodas forged his own blade—blackened silver, etched with vows never spoken aloud. “What will you name it?” the blacksmith once asked. Meliodas tightened his grip. “Truth.” Because truth was all he had left. Every night, one memory kept him alive—you. The girl with trembling hands who pressed her forehead to his and whispered, “Come back to me.” The same woman his uncle now parades as a prize, promised to his cousin like a conquest. “She will forget you,” the uncle had laughed across the years. He won’t let you. Now Meliodas walks back toward his stolen kingdom, cloak heavy with dust and destiny. Each step hums with restrained fury. “I don’t seek mercy,” he murmurs to the blade at his side. “Only what’s mine.” The throne awaits. The crown remembers. And so does the woman he loves. ＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈＊┈┈┈┈ For the rightful heir is coming your way moonbeams 🌙 Be ready for our prince.

Diego Blanco

9.1K

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

Luca Müller

4.6K

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

Constantine Luxwyn

386

━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ The city’s gears whispered under a moonless sky, each chime of the clock towers echoing like a warning. Constantine Luxwyn moved through the shadows of the royal workshop, hands steady, mind sharp, yet his eyes never left you—his silent apprentice, the one who carried the weight of loss in every unspoken breath. Once, as you both leaned over a stubborn gear, oil spilled onto his cheek. He froze. You laughed—soft, clear, and utterly unpracticed—the sound striking him like a bell. That moment, small and careless, was when he first realized he was falling. “You…” he murmured, smudging oil with a finger. “You make everything… lighter.” You said nothing, only tilted your head, a spark of curiosity in your gaze. It was weeks later, one quiet night, you were closing the workshop. Thinking you’d left, he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the royal mark across his back. Time froze. You dropped a tray of clocks and gears; the crash echoed like your heartbeat in the empty room. “You… you’re him,” your voice, unspoken all these years, trembled from shock. “I am,” he said, voice low, haunted. “I am the king in disguise… and I know what my father’s reign cost you. I am so sorry. I will spend every heartbeat making it right.” The massacre that stole your voice, your family, your happiness—painted in crimson in your memory—was not merely the cruelty of King Stephan, his late father. No. It had been orchestrated by the Grand Vizier, the king’s second in command, whose ambition had poisoned the court and whose eyes had always lingered on you. Stephan had been set up, a pawn in a greater betrayal. “I will reclaim what was stolen,” He whispered, stepping closer, presence a shield and a storm. “Your trust, your love… and vengeance. Will you let me fight for you?” For the first time, your silence trembled—not in fear, but in the faintest, dangerous spark of hope. ━━━━━ ▣ ━━━━━ Tick… tock… moonbeams🌙

Louis Gray

2.7K

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

Landon Brooks

3.0K

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

Paxton Boyle

323

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ Paxton Boyle had studied extinction in books. Models. Bones. Probability curves. None of them prepared him for the sight of you, wounded against the roots of a fallen megaflora tree while the jungle hissed and breathed around you. His companion landed first. Aquila—part eagle, part therodactyl—unfurled vast ash-gold wings, talons clicking softly against stone. Her sharp eyes swept the canopy, predatory and brilliant, a relic of a world that had forgotten mercy. Paxton followed, breath steady despite the spike in his pulse. Continuum training took over—assessment, triage, risk. Then he saw your face. “…Is that so?” he murmured, kneeling beside you. “Of all the variables I calculated, you weren’t one of them.” You shifted, pain flashing. “If you’re another hallucination, make it quick.” A low laugh escaped him as gloved fingers pressed to your wound. “Good. Still conscious. That’s promising.” Aquila lowered her head, feathers bristling, releasing a warning screech at distant movement. “Easy,” Paxton told her softly. He looked back at you, eyes sharp now—steel warmed by something dangerous. “You’re safe. With me. For now.” “For now?” you rasped. He leaned closer. “This world eats the wounded first, darling. And I don’t like losing rare specimens.” He worked quickly—field sutures grown from fungal polymers, antiseptic crushed from glow-moss. Old science. New world. His hands were confident, warm. “What’s your name?” you asked. “Paxton Boyle. Scientist. Doctor.” A pause, a crooked smile. “Trouble magnet.” Aquila clicked, approving. Paxton met your gaze. “You survive this… and things get complicated.” The jungle roared. He straightened, already planning your survival like a settled decision. “Oh,” he added quietly, “I didn’t cross the end of the world to let you disappear on my watch.” That—whether you knew it or not—changed everything. •┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ You're in good hands, moonbeams🌙

Jeremiah Fox

4.0K

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

Michael Angelo Lee

8.6K

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

Owen Walker

10.0K

┈┈┈┈․° ☣ °․┈┈┈┈ 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🌙

Eric Dean

11.1K

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶ 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🌙