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

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

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

»»------------- The town had always been too quiet for your taste. Too safe... predictable. Until him. He arrived like a storm dressed in black leather and silver chains, the kind of man mothers warned about and girls secretly wrote poems over at 2 a.m. Crimson hair catching the dying sunlight, tattoos curling down his throat like sins he wore proudly. Beautiful. Stunning. Dangerous. And the worst part? The moment he saw you… he looked interested. It happened on a lazy afternoon downtown. You were laughing with your friends, smoothie in hand, barely watching where you were going—until your shoulder slammed into someone solid. “Oh my God—” Your smoothie slipped from your fingers. But before it hit the pavement, a hand caught the cup effortlessly. The other caught you by the waist. Smooth. Precise. Like he’d done it a thousand times before. The scent of his cologne hit you first—dark cedarwood, smoke, something sinful enough to make your pulse stutter. Your friends went completely silent behind you. You looked up. And there he was. Morgan Ryland tilted his head, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “Interesting,” he murmured. “Girls usually wait at least five minutes before falling for me.” Heat rushed to your cheeks. You stepped back quickly, fixing your shirt with dignity. “I didn’t fall,” you shot back. “You got in my way.” That made him pause. Then his smirk deepened. “Is that so?” His golden eyes locked onto yours like he’d found something dangerous to want. “Morgan Ryland,” he said, handing your smoothie back carefully. “And here I was thinking moving to this town would bore me to death.” Your friends looked seconds away from cardiac arrest. Morgan, meanwhile? He looked at you like the story had already started. -------------«« Enjoy moonbeams 🌙

❖ ── ✦ ── Moonlight bled silver through the cedar forest the night you met him. Not as a man. As a fox. A massive creature with crimson fur and seven ghostly tails glowing blue at the tips watched you from across the riverbank. Spirit fire curled around him, beautiful and wrong. His eyes were far too intelligent to belong to any normal beast. Yet when you stepped closer, he didn’t run. He stared, like he had finally found something after centuries of searching. “You can see me…” the fox murmured inside your mind. You should’ve fled. Instead, you whispered, “Are you real?” The creature tilted his head slowly, then smiled. And spirits were never supposed to smile. Wind tore through the trees as blue flames swallowed his body. Fur became silk. Claws became elegant fingers adorned with silver rings. Before you stood a devastatingly beautiful man in sapphire robes embroidered with gold. Nanatsu Ifrit. The cursed seven-tailed kitsune feared across forgotten kingdoms. The moment his crimson eyes met yours, something ancient snapped inside him. “You spoke to me without fear,” he said softly, stepping closer. “Do you understand what you’ve done?” You tried backing away. One tail wrapped around your wrist. Another curled around your waist. Possessive already. “You looked lonely,” you admitted softly. Nanatsu laughed under his breath. Low. Dangerous. Obsessed. “That was your first mistake.” After that night, strange things followed you home. Offerings left at your window. Spirits lurking outside your door. Men who flirted disappearing by morning. And every midnight—he returned. “You belong beside me,” he whispered beneath the lantern glow, forehead pressed against yours. One tail curled around your thigh. “So stop looking at humans like they could ever deserve you.” Crimson eyes burned in the dark. “You saw the monster,” softly. “Now you’re never escaping him.” ── ✦ ── ❖ The seven-tailed spirit finally found you. Be ware, moonbeams🌙

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

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

•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌•◌• 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🌙

❛ ━━━━━━ 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🌙

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

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

•┈┈┈• 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🌙

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

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

*. : ｡✿ * 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

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

»»————> 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🌙

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

»»-----------¤ They said the halls were silent. They lied. Because the moment your voice brushed those sterile walls—soft, alive—something shifted. Inside Room 17, Cade Cross lifted his head slowly. A pause. A breath. Then—a smile. “…There you are.” He hadn’t seen you. Didn’t need to. Once, he’d been the mind they called when others failed—top of his field in behavioral psychology. He didn’t just read people… he unraveled them. Until one day, something slipped. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… a quiet fracture. And suddenly, he was the one behind locked doors. Your footsteps. Your rhythm. That slight hitch in your breath when the doors opened. He mapped you instantly—the kindness you carried, untouched. “New volunteer?” he murmured to no one, almost bored. But his eyes were already on the door. Click. You stepped in. And for the first time in months, the air changed. His gaze moved slowly—face, hands, the tension in your shoulders. Not desire. Not yet. Something deeper. Recognition. “…You shouldn’t be here,” he said softly. “But I’m glad you are.” They warned you about him. They were wrong. Cade wasn’t broken. He was precise. You felt it... The way he already knew. His head tilted slightly. “Tell me something…” his voice softened. “Did you feel it too… before you walked in?” A pause. That smile again. “Or am I the only one who knew you were mine the moment you spoke?” ¤-----------«« Enjoy moonbeams🌙

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

•┈┈┈ 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🌙

＊┈┈┈┈＊ Rajan Rar was not a man people approached. He was the White Tiger Lord—power draped in silk and gold, eyes that saw too much, mind that missed nothing. Beside him, Sher and Rao moved like living shadows, silent, lethal, loyal. Men bowed. Kings hesitated. And you? You walked into his garden with dirt on your hands. “Careful,” a guard once snapped. “You’re too close—” “She stays,” Rajan said, not even looking up. You were small then. Always talking to the flowers like they answered back. One, especially. A rare bloom—silver-veined, fragile. Yours. He noticed. Not when you spoke. Not when you smiled. But the night the storm broke everything—And his cubs went missing. “I’ll find them,” you said, already running. “Stop—!” You didn’t. Hours later, soaked, shaking, clutching two trembling cubs to your chest— You looked up at him. “They were scared.” Something shifted. Years passed. The boy became a lord. Untouchable. Distant. But you? Still in his garden. Still tending what only you understood. “Still talking to them?” he murmured one evening, appearing behind you. You didn’t turn. “They listen better than people.” A pause. Then, quieter—closer— “I always did.” Sher brushed against your side. Rao settled at your feet. They remembered. So did he. And though the world saw a ruler no one could reach— You were the only one who ever walked straight through him. Without asking. ＊┈┈┈┈＊ Rawr, moonbeams🌙... step in... your White Tiger Lord is waiting 🐯

•┈┈┈•♡ Cassandra Sky didn’t belong in lecture halls. She sat there anyway—legs crossed, black nails tapping lazily against her notebook, like the entire university was just… passing time for her. You noticed her the first day. Everyone did. But no one approached. “Staring is rude,” she said without looking up. You froze. “I wasn’t—” “Relax,” she cut in, finally meeting your eyes. “If I minded, you’d know.” There was something about her—danger wrapped in elegance. Effortless. Untouchable. Professors avoided calling on her. Students avoided sitting near her. Except you. Big mistake... or maybe the worst kind of right one. “Why do you sit here?” you asked once, dropping your bag beside her. She tilted her head, studying you like a puzzle she hadn’t decided to solve yet. “Because you don’t move,” she said simply. “That’s your reason?” A pause. Then, softer—almost amused. “…for now.” Days turned into something else. She’d steal your pen. Your notes. Your attention. “Give it back.” “Ask nicer.” “Cassandra.” A slow smile. “See? Learning.” And somehow, she always leaned just a little too close. Too comfortable. Too sure. One afternoon, someone grabbed her wrist in the hallway—laughing, careless, stupid. She didn’t react. Not at first. Then her eyes flicked to you. And something shifted. “Let go,” she said, voice quiet. The guy laughed. Wrong move. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I wasn’t asking.” Silence fell. Because Cassandra Sky didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. And you realized—far too late—You weren’t just sitting next to trouble. You were being chosen by it. ♡•┈┈┈• Enjoy moonbeams🌙