My master list might still be a bit small, but I'm workin' on it. All stories below are for the 18+ crowd. Minors you are not welcomed here.
I like to have completed stories before I start to post up so as not to have any lag in posting time.
All fics are works of my own. They are pure fictional stories meant to be enjoyed but not taken. You have your own ideas - let's share them instead of take them. Yes, as to date, all my fics are Jake stories. The rest of GVF are featured in them (especially Bootleggers and Wildflowers) but he's my muse and that's why you will not find solely featured stories with the rest of the band.
June, 2022 - the first fiction!
Rayne, a small town librarian, finds herself falling for Jake after meeting when he is part of a music education initiative. It's a good old fashioned falling in love story told in three parts. Content warnings will be labeled on each part.
Sweet Rayne Master List
September, 2022
Violet is a woman working her ass off in two jobs. When the band walks into her bar on a Wednesday night, it changes the scope of her whole summer. Violet is bruised and battered, on the mend from a rough spot that life has dealt her. Jake may be the distraction that gets her through.
Jake is featured as a full switch in this fiction. Content warnings appear on each part. 18+ only
Neapolitan Master List
Thank you to @gardensgatedaisy for her lovely Secret Santa pic of my Neapolitan Jake
December, 2022
Our story picks up right at the end of Neapolitan, finding Jake and Violet navigating what it means to be and grow in their relationship. This story focuses on Violet's continued healing from an abusive relationship.
Content warnings are listed on each part. 18+ only
Neapolitan: A Continuance Master List
July, 2023
The Kiszka/Wagner Company is relatively new to the community of Kingsford. Cora is seeking for a way out of certain starvation and ruin for her family when she gains employment under the new ownership of the mercantile and general stores. Rumors of shady business practices of her new employers aside, she is certain that she is on a path that will see her family out of debt and into a better light.
Completed October 2023
*After consideration, I've decided to take this story down, take another look at it and perhaps get a little more serious about it. Sorry if you missed the original. It was quite the story.
November, 2023
Amanda Fischer and Jake Kiszka have been in love forever it seems. They find that even the best of plans can go awry when life steps in the way. This is a love story, but it takes a lot to get to their happy ending. It's a story that is challenging and angsty and hard to read at times, but it's theirs. This is an AU set in the 1980's, centered around a music shop and bookstore.
Completed December 2023
Best Laid Plans Master List
Completed, April 2024
What starts as a one night stand, turns into a journey that spans decades.
This is my first reader feminine insert X Jake long fiction. God I hope I don't fuck it up.
Celebratory Drinks and Fleeting Embraces Master List
Completed, October 2024
A cursed love. A graveyard. An entity. An AU story that spans time.
The Dead Master List
Beginning July 21, 2025
Vampire AU Jake X Fem!OC
Because the Night Master List
The Single Traveler: Jake X fem reader 18+ Only - mature read You find yourself traveling during the holidays on your way to Hawaii to party with friends and get stuck in Seattle in an ice storm. Perhaps the handsome stranger who wants to share your quiet corner will turn into something fun.
Fireside: Jake X fem reader 18+ Only - sort of a mature read You are trying your hardest to get away on your vacation with Jake to the cabin in the woods. You experience all sorts of hurdles that make you increasingly frustrated. You are a total mess when finally - finally - you reach the cabin to find Jake sitting fireside waiting for you...
Wild Child: Jake X fem reader 18+ Only - You and Jake are heading home from a weekend away and sharing your favorite moments of that weekend when things turn heated.
Wild Child pt. 2: Jake X fem reader 18+ only - told in 1st person, you are running errands during your lunch break, enjoying the wonderful Spring feel in the air when you see Jake on the motorcycle and you try to catch up. When an afternoon of delight is offered, how can you not call in the rest of the work day?
Bound: Jake X Chris Turpin slash fic. A tangent story off of the chapter fiction The Dead. 18+ Only - A journal entry of Yakov Petrov (Jake) detailing life in 1850's Michigan while he and his love, Christian Hertel (Chris Turpin inspired), record the land in art.
Travel Blues: Jake X Chris Turpin slash fic. Getting ready to go on vacation is rough on Chris. 18+ only.
Lyric: Jake X OC. A Valentine's story for @seenoversundown's Valentine's Day Writing Event. AU - no warnings. ALL FLUFF. A peek at what falling in love could be.
Updated July 2025 - Hope for more stories to follow! swirly dividers by @ firefly-graphics
fanfiction is a rare gem and a solid, living proof that, in a world of tiktok, influencers and content posting, not everything is about money and going viral. art can still be art just for the sake of the artists’ pure love, joy and passion for the art they create. fanfic writers write 100k words and more about the characters they love for free. just because they love these characters and the art of writing so much. art is not dead and the world is still beautiful.
Warnings: 18+ Smut, fluff, tension, pining, very basic smut. (P in V-wrap it up kids)
Word Count: 2k.
Author's Note: I'm back.
Her POV
It’s no shock to me that I’ve found myself lying on his bed, just talking about whatever comes to mind. Somehow we always seem to end up in these situations, where everyone else has dipped and we’re just not ready to go home or in this case, we outlasted the rest and moved to his room so we could still talk, while the rest of the boys were passed out in various parts of the house.
Parties at their house were always a bit chaotic, but that’s just how they were as people–a bit chaotic. It felt like routine at this point that you would have to truly watch where you were walking because the chances of someone just passed out on the floor were high.
Jake and I had gotten close throughout college because we both found ourselves in more creative fields, so the understanding was there. He never judged me for any of my interests, no matter how cringy some people would have found them. We had other friends as well, but there was something so comforting about him. Maybe it was just the way that our friendship worked, but I never wanted to think too hard about it.
We were always near each other whether it was just in the same room or his arm slung over my shoulders as we listened to his brother go on about some insane story. Always ignoring the fluttering in my stomach when he would do that, because he is just a physical touch kind of person, so I’m sure he never meant anything by it.
Or the way he would grab my hand and pull me behind him into his room when we needed a break from the chaos. My eyes tried to avoid the way my hand looked in his, with the silver rings he always wore pushing into my skin, but I couldn’t stop myself when I’d feel the way his thumb would run along mine.
“Have you ever considered just staying here after college?” He asked, not an unusual thing for him to do.
My head turns to look at him, albeit sideways because of the way I flopped across his bed and he’s sat up against the headboard. I mumble back to him, “We’ve been over this.”
“I know, I know,” he groans out. “Just hoping that if I ask enough times, you’ll cave.”
Breathing out a laugh, “I won’t be that far away, Jake. You act like I’m moving overseas.”
His hand dramatically pulling up to his forehead as he lets out, “You may as well be.”
“Oh my god, I will be forty-five minutes away, you diva.”
His laugh fills the air, making my heart feel a little weird, but I choose to just ignore that. Staring back up at the ceiling, despite the fact a little voice in my head telling me to just stare at him instead, it’s my turn to question him.
“You’ll still facetime me when we can’t sleep, right?”
The bed shifts a bit as he lays down next to me, I can feel him looking at me, but I resist the urge to turn my head. His soft voice suddenly became much closer to me saying, “Of course I will.. Who else would I call?”
The silence felt loud after that and the smile on my face felt like betrayal to everything I’ve ignored and let slide for the last few years. Lying there next to him, knowing that I’ve dreamt of a different timeline where we weren’t just friends, but here I am, listening to him so sweetly admit to missing me–my heart felt like a pressure cooker ready to burst.
I closed my eyes for a second, trying to rid the thoughts from my brain because he’s my best friend, until I couldn’t focus anymore. His hand sliding into mine, our fingers laced together as they so often do, but this time was different; his hand was trembling. The silence was deafening.
He quietly asks, “What do you think would happen if I kissed you right now?”
My eyes shot open, turning to look at him, but it’s his turn to stare straight up at the ceiling. The thoughts rapid fire shooting off in my brain and I just look at him for a minute before whispering, “What if it ruins everything?”
Watching as his chest rises and falls a few times before his face turns to mine, the subtle panic between us as we realize how close we are. There’s no denying how beautiful he is, especially up close. His eyes searched all over my face, like he’s trying to find the answer when he comes back with, “What if it makes everything better?”
My breathing stops when his eyes drop to my lips for a few seconds, pulling back up to hold my gaze. It felt like time had stopped when I breathed out, “Okay.”
His hand let go of mine, only to hold the back of my neck as he closed the gap between us. Our lips hovered for a second, both of us silently knowing there was no turning back after this.
“You’re sure?” he mumbled, the sound of his voice so close to me, making my heart race. My lips pulled into a small smile, knowing he’s giving me the chance to back out, but if he only knew the things that had crossed my mind in the past–I giggle out, “Just do it.”
Feeling him smile into me surpassed any dream I had about this man. The soft feeling of his lips against mine, feeling his little breaths against me, the way his lashes fluttered against our cheeks. He pulls me into him, deeper, our bodies turn to face each other and even though we’ve efficiently ruined the friendship, I’m still nervous to touch him.
The warmth of his skin as my hand finds his arm to hold on to, like I’m afraid he’ll run away. Our kisses went from sweet, to a little desperate. His hand pulling my body against his, moving my leg over his waist to be as close as possible; I’m just praying he can’t feel my heartbeat against him. My hips shift against him slightly, and he lets out a soft little mmm against me.
He pushes my shoulder back, shifting us so he’s hovering over me. Our hips pressed into each other, a position I never thought I would find myself in with him. The gentle roll of his hips as my hands ran up his back, I could feel that he was also struggling. The pressure from it alone pulls a gasp from me, and I could feel my face heat up at the sound. He smirked at how he was affecting me so easily; his fingers brushing against the small sliver of skin showing from where my shirt had ridden up. Goosebumps flooded my body, he gently pushed the hem of my shirt up, his eyes flitted up to mine, “Is this okay?”
“Please,” I breathe out, hating how desperate I sound.
He slides it up over my head, his eyes wide at the sight. My lace bra does not leave a lot of room for imagination and the cool air only makes it worse. His lips attached to my collarbone, leaving wet kisses down my chest until he slid the lace fabric to the side. His lips wrapped around my nipple quickly, carefully his tongue teases it and the quiet moans falling from me only encourage him further. His thumb teases the other one and just that alone makes me want to fall apart.
My legs giving me away when they tighten against him, the devilish look on his face was enough to know that he was into it. His voice oozed like honey when he asked, “Do you want to do this?”
Glancing down at him, and my god was he even more beautiful in this moment, I couldn’t help the laugh that came out when I said, “We’ve already fucked up the friendship, soo..”
Dropping his head against me, his body shakes a little as he giggles quietly, letting out, “We should have done this sooner.”
My hand reaches out, moving a little piece of hair from his face, and shocking myself when I whisper, “then let’s not waste more time.”
Suddenly we’re grabbing at each other, almost frantic–both of us fiddling with the buttons on our jeans. Our mouths desperate as they work against each other, he’s tossing our clothes onto the floor mindlessly–nothing else matters at this point.
Hands exploring all over our bodies, the feeling of his skin on mine already has my heart racing. Sliding the lace of my panties to the side, his fingers slip into me easily and a moan falls out of my mouth, a bit louder than I expected.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, as his hand is pumping into me gently.
My arm reached out, palming him over his boxers, watching the relief he felt as his face relaxed. I tug on the waistband, sliding them down just a little, until he backs up pushing them down far enough for his cock to be free. He only lets me stroke him a few times before he’s grabbing my wrist to stop, looking up at me, he mumbles, “Hold on.”
He pulls his hand back from me, stroking himself a few times before he lines himself up with me. Slowly pushing himself into me, which may have been so I could adjust, but I think he needed it too. He stilled for a moment once he was buried deep into me.
The second his hips started rocking into me, my head started to spin; he was everything. Our moans filled the air, pulling his face back to mine, doing everything I can to kiss him but spending a lot of time just breathing into each other.
One of his hands snaked between us, carefully circling my clit, pushing me right to the edge until he whispered, “Come on, baby.” My back arched up, pressing my chest into him more as my orgasm ran through me. Eyes tightly shut and I can’t control the words coming from my mouth as he talks me through it. “That’s it–yes, baby, god you feel so good.”
It’s only a minute after my back hits the mattress that I feel him pulling out, the warmth hitting me, but all I can focus on are the delicious sounds coming from him, knowing that he feels good because of me.
The silence is back, but this time it’s comfortable. Listening to our breathing as we lay there for a moment, both processing what just happened.
“So..” He breaks first. “That was uh–”
I laugh quietly, “Way better than I imagined.”
His eyebrow pops up, with that shitty little smirk on his face, “You’ve imagined this before?”
“You haven’t?” I counter, pulling my eyebrows together, knowing that there’s no way it was one sided.
His face was a little pink, letting out a laugh, “You know what– you got me.”
“Should we–” I start, glancing down at the mess we’ve made.
His eyes go wide realizing, “Oh! Hold on, let me–”
Watching as he gets up, tucking himself back into his boxers, I whisper, “Hurry back, we have a few things I think we need to discuss now, babe.”
The pet name stopped him in his tracks, his breath was visible–walking over, he leaned down to press a kiss against my forehead. He lets his lips linger against my skin, his hand cupping my jaw as he pulls back. Looking up at him, questioning how we waited so long to finally just do this. His stare told me that he was thinking the same thing, the way we just gazed so longingly, like we always have. Somehow both of us swallowed the feelings that were laced in every passing glance. All those times that he listened to me cry over dumb things, held my hand through crowds, came to hang out with me because it was late and neither of us could sleep. Falling asleep in his arms, but assuming that it was just what friends do, because there was no way that he felt the same–jokes on me. That sweet voice pulled me out of my head, saying, “Of course, my love.”
And at that moment, I decided that maybe moving back home wasn’t an option.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
Masterpost
Taglist: (reply or dm to be added)
@gvfsstardust @myleftsock @imleavingyoufornewyork @dont-go-home-without-me
warnings: pushy family, lying, "pretend boyfriend", one bed trope, kissing, jealous ex, more kissing, slight angst, admission of feelings, friends to lovers, SMUT 18+!, fingering (f. rec.), handjob, dirty talk, unprotected sex, slight overstim., light choking, having to be quiet during sex, soft jake
masterlist
You toss your phone onto the table, a heavy clatter breaking the quiet of your apartment. A sigh drags out of you, long and weary, the kind that deflates your whole body. You lean back into the couch cushions until your head tips over the edge, staring up at the ceiling above you. There’s a small crack spidering out from where the wall meets the plaster– something new, something to add to the growing list of things that need fixing. You squint at it, jaw tightening. It’s a small thing, but somehow, it feels like the last straw.
The real problem isn’t the crack. It’s your family.
Your mom’s voice still rings in your ears– that bright, insistent tone that makes you feel ten years old again. You’re expected home this weekend, of course, for your nana’s eightieth birthday bash. Everyone will be there. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. The works.
And, naturally, the conversation had shifted. Have you met anyone yet, sweetheart?
You had rolled your eyes so hard they practically got stuck. And then, because you panic when cornered, you lied. Told your mom you were seeing someone. Told her he was great. Funny. Sweet. You might’ve even said he played guitar, because you were clearly out of your mind. And the kicker? You told her he’d be coming with you.
You groan, dragging your hands over your face. “What the hell is wrong with me?”
A soft thump at your feet interrupts your self-loathing. When you lower your hands, you see Snickerdoodle weaving between your legs, tail curling around your shin. Her little meow is pointed, expectant. You reach down, scoop her up, and press your face into her fur. She purrs immediately, that warm, steady rumble in her chest grounding you for a second.
“What are we gonna do, huh?” you mumble into her fur. She blinks at you, unimpressed, and stretches in your arms like she has no plans to help solve this mess.
You don’t even move when the front door creaks open– only one person in the world walks into your place like that without knocking.
Jake rounds the corner a moment later, sunlight catching on his messy hair and the glint of a chain at his throat. There’s a drink carrier in one hand, two coffees swaying precariously, and a paper bag that smells like sugar and butter in the other.
“Good morning, sunshine,” he grins, setting everything on the table beside your abandoned phone. “You look like you’re… going through it.”
You sigh again, rubbing Snickerdoodle’s back. “I’m an idiot.”
Jake raises his brows, handing you your coffee. “Well, that’s not new. Nothing to get dramatic about.”
You give him a deadpan look, though you can’t quite smother the laugh that escapes you. “Screw you, Jake.”
He chuckles, taking the cat from your arms and tucking her against his chest like he’s done a hundred times before. She melts instantly, purring louder, the little traitor. Jake scratches under her chin, the picture of contentment. “Alright, what’d you do this time?”
You groan, curling a hand around your coffee cup. “It’s my nana’s birthday this weekend. Big party. My mom asked if I had a boyfriend yet, and…” you shrug helplessly, “I panicked. I told her I did.”
He hums, not even fazed. “That’s not so bad.”
You take a sip of coffee and stare at him over the rim of your cup. “I also told her he was coming with me.”
He freezes. Then blinks. “Why would you do that?”
“I don’t know!” you groan, dropping your face into your hands again. “I just– I got tired of them asking. Every time I go home it’s like a damn interrogation. I cracked.”
Jake lets out a low laugh, shaking his head as Snickerdoodle climbs onto his shoulder like she owns him. “You could just say he couldn’t make it. Long-distance thing. Food poisoning. Something.”
You lower your hands, staring at him. And then it hits you– like a light bulb switching on, chaotic and brilliant.
“Jake,” you say slowly, “I have an idea.”
He looks at you warily, still petting your cat. “That tone never means anything good.”
“Be my fake boyfriend. Just for the weekend.”
He blinks. “What?”
You sit up straighter, coffee sloshing in your cup. “Come with me. Pretend to be my boyfriend. You already know everything about me anyway, and my family will love you.”
He grins, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Y/n–”
“Please,” you say quickly. “We don’t have to make it weird or anything. Just– I can’t do another family trip where I’m grilled about my love life.”
Jake studies you for a long moment, the teasing dimming in his expression. His thumb strokes absentmindedly behind Snickerdoodle’s ear before he gently sets her on the floor. Then he stands, running a hand through his hair, his lips pursed in thought.
“This weekend?” he asks.
You nod, heart thumping, not daring to breathe.
Finally, he sighs and smiles, soft and a little amused. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll do it.”
You practically launch yourself off the couch, wrapping your arms around him in a quick, overjoyed hug. “You’re the best, Jake.”
He laughs, his hands settling lightly against your back. “You owe me big time, you know. One night out– no backing out at the last minute for your fuzzy pajamas and crime shows.”
You nod quickly, still grinning. “Deal. Whatever you want.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his smile turning playful again. “Alright, sweetheart,” he says, voice low with mock seriousness. “Let’s go lie to your family.”
Snickerdoodle meows from the floor, as if she already knows this is going to end in disaster.
—
The drive up takes hours, all winding roads and bursts of gold and green outside the windows. You’ve been half-dozing against the window for the last stretch, the hum of the tires and the low strum of Jake’s playlist turning everything soft around the edges.
When he clears his throat and says, “We’re here,” you blink awake, squinting through the windshield.
Your parents hadn’t been exaggerating– the place is stunning. The log cabin sits tucked between tall pines, warm light spilling out from the big windows. There’s a porch wrapped all the way around, string lights draped from post to post, swaying in the late afternoon breeze. You can already smell woodsmoke and something sweet– probably one of your aunts baking inside.
Jake shifts the car into park and glances at you, his grin lopsided. “So… ready to ruin your mom’s expectations?”
You groan, rubbing your hands over your face. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
He laughs, reaching for the door handle. “Alright, fake girlfriend. Let’s make some magic.”
The air outside is crisp, the kind that smells like pine needles and distant rain. Gravel crunches under your shoes as you step out, stretching your legs. The front porch is lined with boots and coolers, and through the big front windows, you can already see movement– your mom bustling around, someone laughing too loud.
You glance over at Jake as he grabs both your overnight bags from the trunk. His hair’s a little messy from the drive, curls catching the light, his flannel sleeves rolled up just enough to make your chest do that annoying flutter thing. He catches you looking and smirks.
“Hey, if we’re doing this, you gotta look like you’re into me,” he teases. “Otherwise it’s not believable.”
You swat his arm, but your laugh comes out too bright. “Please. My mom’s going to love you more than she loves me within five minutes. You’ll be the one who has to fake it.”
He grins wider. “Challenge accepted.”
By the time you both reach the porch, your heart is pounding. Jake pauses at the door, one hand on the knob, the other still holding your bag. He gives you a look– warm, steady, the kind that’s all best friend comfort but something… deeper flickering just underneath.
“Hey,” he says softly, “It’s just a weekend. We’ve got this, okay?”
You nod, trying to swallow the knot in your throat. “Okay.”
And then he does it– slips his arm around your shoulders as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of him sinks into you immediately. He smells like cedar and coffee and the sugar from the pastries he’d brought earlier.
You barely have time to process it before the front door swings open and your mom’s voice comes bursting out, all bright excitement and surprise.
“Sweetheart! You made it!”
You plaster on your best smile, Jake’s arm still snug around you, and step inside the golden glow of home.
Your mom’s eyes light up when she spots him. “Oh! And this must be–”
Jake’s grin is pure charm as he extends a hand. “Jake. It’s really nice to finally meet you.”
Your mom practically beams. “Oh, finally! I was starting to think you were made up!”
You shoot him a sharp look, but he only squeezes your shoulder, still smiling like he was born for this.
“See?” he murmurs under his breath, low enough that only you can hear. “Told you we’d be fine.”
You roll your eyes– but your cheeks feel hot, and your heart’s beating way too fast for something that’s supposed to be pretend.
The cabin smells like cinnamon and coffee and whatever candle your mom has burning on every available surface. It’s cozy in that overwhelming, family gathering kind of way– laughter echoing from the kitchen, music humming from a speaker, everyone talking over each other.
Jake’s hand stays at the small of your back as you both step inside, and somehow, that simple touch steadies you.
Your mom’s already fussing, ushering you both in like you’ve been lost in the wilderness for years. “Come in, come in! Oh, you must be freezing. Did you hit traffic? There’s cider on the stove, oh– and your cousins are in the den!”
Jake’s smiling, nodding, charming her without even trying. He looks like he belongs here– like he’s done this a hundred times before, like this really isn’t a lie. You've finally made it through introductions, hugging and chatting with everyone who you knew whispered about your new boyfriend.
He finally makes his way back to you, hands you a glass of cider and raises his brows. “So this is your family, huh?”
You groan. “Don’t start.”
He chuckles, bumping his shoulder against yours. “Relax, I’ve got you covered.” He leans in closer, voice dropping low and warm. “Besides… it’s kinda fun being your fake boyfriend.”
You roll your eyes– but your lips twitch anyway. “Don’t get too comfortable, Kiszka.”
“Oh, too late,” he murmurs with a grin, sipping his cider.
And when he glances at you over the rim of his cup– eyes all soft and golden in the lamplight– you realize you’re the one in trouble.
—
By the time dinner starts, the cabin feels like it’s bursting at the seams. Every chair’s filled, voices overlap, laughter echoes, and the air smells like roasted vegetables, butter, and someone’s overenthusiastic use of cinnamon. The long wooden table glows under strings of lights and mismatched candles.
You sit wedged between Jake and your mom, with your dad at the far end telling some exaggerated story about his fishing trip last summer. Jake’s arm brushes yours now and then– a quiet, grounding touch that keeps you from unraveling completely.
He’s fitting in seamlessly, the way he always does. When your mom sets a dish down, he’s the first to stand and help. When your uncle cracks a joke, Jake actually laughs– that low, genuine sound that makes people want to laugh with him. And when your little cousin spills her drink, he’s quick to grab napkins, joking about how he’s the “designated cleanup crew.”
You can feel your family melting around him. Of course they like him. They like him so much it’s almost offensive.
At one point, your mom leans toward you and whispers, “He’s lovely, honey. You really found a good one.”
Your stomach flips. “Yeah,” you manage softly. “Guess I did.”
Jake glances at you then, catching the tail end of that exchange. His eyes crinkle, soft and teasing, but there’s something gentler there too– something you can’t quite name.
“So,” Jake says, turning to your dad, “Y/N tells me you built this cabin yourself?”
Your dad brightens immediately. “Mostly, yeah! Took me two summers. She used to come up and ‘help’– which usually meant complaining about mosquitos and drinking all my lemonade.”
Jake laughs, leaning back in his chair, arm draped casually along the back of yours. “That sounds about right.”
You elbow him, trying not to smile. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Never said I was fair,” he murmurs.
There’s a ripple of laughter around the table, and for a second, everything feels… weirdly real. Like maybe you’re not pretending at all.
Dessert rolls around, and your mom insists on a toast. Glasses clink, your Nana beams, the room hums with warmth. Jake slips his hand under the table and finds yours. It’s a small gesture, just fingers brushing, but your breath catches. His hand is warm and steady, and when you glance at him, he’s already looking at you.
You can’t tell if the smile he gives you is part of the act or something else entirely.
Your uncle speaks up. “So,” he says lightly, though the teasing edge in his voice gives him away, “how long have you two been together?”
The question hangs in the air, sharp as glass.
Jake doesn’t miss a beat. “Eight months,” he says smoothly. His thumb traces slow circles on the back of your hand. “Feels like longer, though.”
Your mom makes a happy little sound. “Eight months! That’s wonderful!”
You turn your head toward Jake, blinking. He’s looking at you like he knows exactly what he’s doing– a hint of mischief, a spark of something protective in his gaze.
You bite back a smile, leaning in close enough that your shoulder brushes Jake’s. “Eight months, huh?” you whisper.
He smirks, speaking low enough for only you to hear, “Seemed believable. You can’t look at me like that if it’s only been two weeks.”
You roll your eyes– but your pulse skips all the same.
After dinner, people scatter– some to the porch, some to the firepit outside. You linger in the kitchen, rinsing plates, when Jake appears beside you, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy from the warmth of the room.
He bumps your hip lightly. “You okay?”
You nod, glancing at him. “You didn’t have to handle them like that.”
He shrugs, a playful smile tugging at his mouth. “They love me. It was my pleasure.”
You snort a laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”
He grins, setting a plate in the drying rack. “And you’re welcome.”
When you glance up again, his eyes are already on you. For a heartbeat, the noise of the house fades– the laughter, the chatter, the clinking of glasses. It’s just the two of you, standing shoulder to shoulder in the soft light, hands still damp from the sink.
You realize then that– whatever’s happening between you– you don't know how much of it is pretend.
—
The cabin finally starts to settle down after dinner– the laughter fading into tired chatter, the sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen, the faint strum of a guitar coming from somewhere on the porch. The warmth of the evening lingers, but you’re exhausted. Being fake-in-love for an entire day is apparently emotional cardio.
You’re carrying your overnight bag down the narrow hallway, Jake right behind you, when your mom catches you by the stairs.
“Oh, honey,” she says, smiling. “You and Jake can take the guest room upstairs– it’s the only one that still has heat working properly. The cousins are downstairs on air mattresses, so you two lucked out.”
You start to protest. “Wait, the–”
But she’s already turned back toward the kitchen, humming to herself.
You glance over your shoulder at Jake. He’s biting his lip, trying– and failing– not to laugh.
“Don’t,” you warn him.
He lifts his hands, all mock innocence. “I didn’t say anything.”
The room is small but cozy when you step inside. There’s a single lamp on the nightstand casting golden light across the wood-paneled walls. A window looks out over the dark stretch of pines. And there, dead center– the problem.
One bed.
You stop in the doorway, staring at it like it just personally betrayed you.
Jake walks in behind you, peering over your shoulder. “Wow,” he says, far too amused. “Real classic setup you’ve got here.”
You turn to him slowly. “Don’t even start with me, Kiszka.”
He grins, dropping his bag by the wall. “I’ll take the floor if it makes you feel better.”
You glance at the floorboards– narrow, uneven. “You’ll be miserable.”
He shrugs. “I’ll survive.”
But when you sit on the edge of the mattress, it dips slightly, and you realize there’s more than enough room for two if you don’t move too much. You sigh, rubbing your temples. “We’re adults. We can share. Just… stay on your side.”
He raises a brow, playful. “Wouldn’t dream of crossing enemy lines.”
You throw a pillow at him.
—
Later, the lights are out and the cabin is quiet except for the faint creak of wood and the hum of wind through the trees. The bed’s surprisingly soft. You’re lying on your side, facing away from him, trying to will your heartbeat into something normal.
Then his voice, low and rough with sleep,
“You okay?”
You exhale slowly. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
You hesitate. “About how I dragged my best friend into the weirdest weekend of his life.”
He chuckles quietly behind you. “This isn’t even in my top five weirdest weekends.”
You laugh under your breath. “That’s not comforting.”
A pause. Then the bed shifts, the faint dip of the mattress as he turns over. You can feel the warmth of him now– close enough that you catch the faint scent of his shampoo and smoke and cinnamon cider.
“Hey,” he says softly. “I meant it, you know.”
You blink into the dark. “Meant what?”
He hesitates, like he’s choosing his words. “That I’ve got you. Whatever happens this weekend– all of it– I’m here.”
Your throat goes tight. You smile, even though he can’t see it. “I know.”
The silence stretches, comfortable this time. You think he’s fallen asleep until you hear him mumble, half-asleep now, “Also… your mom told me she’s making pancakes in the morning. So I’m definitely not leaving.”
You snort quietly, shaking your head. “Goodnight, Jake.”
“Night, sweetheart.”
You tell yourself it’s just part of the act– the name, the warmth, the way your heart stutters when he says it.
—
The cabin kitchen is warm and cozy, sunlight spilling through the windows, the smell of pancakes thick in the air. Your mom and nana are bustling around, setting the table and laughing, while you’re just trying to make yourself a cup of coffee and act like a semi-responsible adult.
“Morning,” you mumble, grabbing the coffee pot.
“How'd you sleep, dear?” Your mother asks, giving you a warm smile.
“Good,” you say around a yawn, “Not enough.”
“Jake keep you up all night?”
You turn to your Nana with wide eyes, a shocked smile on your lips, “Nana.”
Your mom giggles, the two sharing a conspiratory look. You huff a laugh, turning back to your coffee, “No,” you respond, “Nothing like that.”
You hear the shuffling sounds of someone coming into the kitchen, you look over to see Jake making his way to you. You give him a soft smile, “Good morning.”
You barely have time to process before he steps up to you, eyes locked on your lips as if nothing else exists– and then he kisses you.
It’s not a quick peck. It’s bold, warm, claiming, and a little messy. Your hands freeze on the counter, your coffee mug forgotten, heart hammering like a drum.
The room goes silent. Your mom freezes mid-pour, Nana stops stirring her tea.
And then– just as suddenly as he appeared– Jake steps back. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even glance your way. He turns, walks out of the kitchen, and disappears, leaving the door swinging softly behind him.
Your mom finally exhales, trying not to laugh. “Well… that’s one way to start the day.”
Nana snickers.
You stand frozen, coffee dripping from your mug, cheeks flaming, and heart hammering.
—
You shut the bedroom door behind you, leaning against it as you watch him. He's shirtless, going through his clothes as he searches for something to put on for the day.
“What was that?” You ask, earning a glance from him.
“What was what?” He asks, pulling out a flannel button up.
“The kiss,” you say quietly.
He straightens up, pulling the shirt on. He watches you as he buttons it slowly, “Was it too far?”
You huff a laugh, “No, just– unexpected.”
He gives you a half smile, “Figured we should play the part, y'know?”
“In front of my Nana?” You tease with a grin.
He grins back, shaking his head, “I don't know, wasn't really thinking.” He gives you a softer look, “I'm sorry.”
“You don't have to apologize,” you say, meaning it. “Just… give me a warning next time,” you tease. “You caught me off guard.”
He nods, smiling ruefully, “Probably won't be the last time that happens this weekend.”
Part of you wishes it wasn't just this weekend.
“I'll be a little more prepared,” you say with a roll of your eyes despite the smile on your lips.
“Good. Now if you'll excuse me,” he says, stopping in front of you, “I've got a fishing trip with your dad.”
You frown up at him, “How'd you manage that? He never takes me fishing–”
“He likes me better,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your hair, “Try not to miss me today, alright?”
You scoff, “Believe me, I won't.”
He shoots you a knowing look, one that tells you he knows better– and he's gone.
—
The afternoon hums with the noise of prep for your Nana’s birthday– someone’s setting the table, your mom’s icing the cake, laughter spilling from the porch. You’re arranging candles when the front door opens and a familiar voice cuts through the chatter.
“Hey, everyone. Hope I’m not crashing the party.”
The sound of it hits you like cold water. You freeze, candle halfway into the frosting. Your mom looks up, face lighting. “Ethan! Oh, sweetheart, of course not. Nana will be thrilled you came.”
You turn slowly. He’s standing in the doorway, wind-tousled hair, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, wearing that same crooked grin that used to undo you. Your stomach twists. “Ethan,” you say carefully. “Didn’t know you were coming.”
“Last-minute decision,” he says with a shrug. “Your mom invited me. Figured I’d surprise everyone.” He looks at you longer than he should– like he’s still searching for some version of you that hasn’t moved on. “Can we talk? Just for a minute? Outside?”
You hesitate, glance at your mom– already fussing with frosting again– and nod stiffly. “Sure.”
Outside, the air is cool and sharp with pine and lake water. The porch creaks under your feet as you lean against the railing, keeping space between you. Ethan exhales. “You look good. Happier.”
“Thanks,” you say flatly. “What did you want to talk about?”
He shifts, eyes dropping to the boards. “I’ve been thinking about… us.”
“Ethan–”
“I know, I know,” he cuts in quickly. “I screwed up. I shouldn’t have ended things like that. I just–” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Seeing you here, I realized maybe we weren’t done. Maybe we could try again.”
You stare at him, thrown between shock and disbelief… and disgust. “You came here to tell me that?”
He nods once, hesitant. “Yeah. I miss you.”
There’s a long pause. The kind that used to mean something between you. Now, it just feels heavy. “I’m with someone,” you say finally.
He goes still. “You are?”
“Yeah. Jake Kiszka.” You hold his gaze. “We’ve been together a while.”
Something flickers across his face– surprise first, then something darker. “The musician guy?” His tone sharpens, edges hard. “Didn’t think you were into that kind of chaos.”
You open your mouth, but the screen door swings open behind you. Jake steps out, sunlight catching in his damp hair, sleeves rolled, the faint scent of lake water and cedar following him. He slows when he sees Ethan– and you– but his expression stays easy, almost amused. Almost.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, crossing to you without hesitation. His hand finds your waist, casual but firm, like it’s instinct. “Your dad says I’m a terrible fisherman. Guess I did everything wrong.”
You smile, tension bleeding just a little. “Sounds about right.”
Jake finally looks at Ethan, his grip on you tightening imperceptibly. “Don’t think we’ve met.”
“Ethan,” he says, shaking Jake’s hand. “Old family friend.”
Jake’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Old friend, huh.” His tone is polite, but there’s something in the way he says it– something that lands like a challenge. “Nice to meet you.”
Ethan meets his gaze head-on, their handshake just a little too firm, neither one of them letting go first.
“Didn’t know Y/N was bringing someone,” Ethan says, tone light but brittle.
“Guess it came up fast,” Jake replies, still holding his stare. “But it’s been good. Feels like we’ve known each other forever.”
You feel the air between them thicken– an invisible line drawn, both testing how far the other will go. Jake’s thumb strokes absently along your hip, but you can feel it’s deliberate now, a quiet statement. Mine.
Ethan’s jaw tightens, but he forces a smile. “Well. Glad you’re happy, Y/n.”
You nod, voice soft. “Yeah. I am.”
Ethan gives a curt nod, stepping back. “Guess I’ll go say hi to Nana.”
He disappears inside, leaving the screen door creaking in his wake. For a moment, the quiet is deafening. Jake exhales, his hand still resting at your waist. “That him?”
You nod once. “Yeah.”
“Didn’t look thrilled to meet me.”
You glance up at him. “You weren’t exactly subtle either.”
He smirks, though there’s an edge to it. “Didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”
You laugh under your breath. “You jealous, Kiszka?”
He meets your eyes, smile fading into something quieter, heavier. “Maybe.”
Your breath catches, the air between you shifting again– less about pretense now, more about something real, something dangerous.
Before you can say anything, someone calls from inside that Nana’s about to blow out the candles.
Jake steps back first, brushing his thumb once more along your hip before letting go. “Come on, sweetheart,” he says softly. “Wouldn’t wanna miss the show.”
You follow him inside, pulse racing– not sure if it’s from Ethan’s return… or the way Jake’s still watching you like you’re the only thing in the room.
—
The cabin glows with soft, golden light. Laughter spills from every corner, the air rich with frosting, pine, and candle smoke. Your Nana sits at the head of the long wooden table, a paper crown slightly crooked on her head, cheeks flushed from champagne and love. The room hums with warmth, almost enough to drown the unease still curling in your chest.
You’re standing near the counter, helping your mom light the last candle on the cake, when Jake slides up beside you. His hand brushes the small of your back– subtle, protective. You glance up at him, offering a quiet smile. “All good?”
“Perfect,” he murmurs, though his eyes drift toward the far side of the room. Toward Ethan.
Ethan’s talking with your uncle near the fireplace, beer in hand, laughter coming too easily. But every few minutes, his gaze flickers your way– like gravity won’t let him stop. You look down quickly, focusing on the matches. Jake notices. Of course he does.
“Want me to say something?” he asks, voice low enough for only you to hear.
You huff a laugh, shaking your head. “You’ve already said plenty.”
He smirks. “I can always say more.”
Before you can answer, your mom calls out, “Alright everyone! Cake time!”
Chairs scrape, voices rise in cheerful chorus as your family crowds around Nana. Jake stands just behind you, one arm brushing yours, his presence grounding– and impossibly charged.
The song starts, voices overlapping in a sweet, chaotic mess. You can feel Ethan’s gaze on you the entire time. When you glance his way, he’s not smiling anymore.
Jake notices that, too.
As the last note fades, Nana blows out her candles amid cheers. Jake claps along, leaning close enough to whisper, “Your ex looks like he’s plotting a murder.”
You bite back a laugh, elbowing him lightly. “Behave.”
“Always do,” he says– though the slight curl at the edge of his mouth suggests otherwise.
Cake is served, and people drift into smaller circles of chatter. You carry a plate to your Nana, who squeezes your hand with a soft, “You and that boy– adorable.”
You smile, cheeks warm. “Thanks, Nana.”
When you turn back, Jake’s at the far side of the room– talking to your dad, relaxed but alert. Ethan, meanwhile, has detached from the crowd and is making his way toward you.
You steel yourself. “Hey,” he says, stopping in front of you, voice low. “Mind if we talk–”
“Not really the time,” you cut in gently, setting down your empty plate.
He swallows, glancing over your shoulder toward Jake. “I just… I didn’t expect to see him. With you. Like that.”
“Ethan,” you sigh. “You don’t get to be surprised. You walked away, remember?”
He runs a hand through his hair, eyes pleading now. “I know. And it was stupid. But seeing you with him–”
“Y/n.” Jake’s voice cuts clean through the noise. You look over. He’s crossed the room already, expression unreadable but calm. He rests a hand lightly on your shoulder, nods to Ethan. “Everything alright here?”
Jake’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good. Hate to interrupt.”
You step subtly between them, pulse thudding in your ears. “We were just finishing up.”
Ethan lets out a humorless laugh. “You really upgraded fast.”
The words land sharp and ugly.
Jake’s body goes still beside you– not angry, just tight. Controlled. He tilts his head, voice quiet but laced with warning. “Careful, man.”
Ethan scoffs, but his confidence flickers when he meets Jake’s eyes– steady, unblinking. The tension between them hums like a live wire. You put a hand on Jake’s arm. “Hey. Let’s not–”
Jake glances at you, softens instantly. “Yeah,” he says, voice lower now. “You’re right.”
Ethan shakes his head, muttering something about “needing air,” and stalks toward the back porch.
Jake exhales, jaw unclenching. He looks down at you. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make it worse.”
“You didn’t,” you say quietly. “He just doesn’t like losing.”
Jake studies you for a long moment. “You sure you’re okay?”
You nod, though your pulse is still racing. “Yeah. I just… need a minute.”
“Come on,” he says, nodding toward the porch door. “Let’s get that minute.”
Outside, the air is cool and still, the lake reflecting strands of golden light from inside the cabin. You step out onto the porch, wrap your arms around yourself. Jake leans against the railing beside you, silent for a while. Then, softly, “You didn’t look at him the way he looked at you.”
You turn toward him. “What?”
He meets your gaze, steady. “I saw it. Whatever you had– it’s not there anymore. Not for you.”
You don’t know what to say to that. So you don’t. You just step closer, until his shoulder brushes yours. For a while, you stand there in silence, the sound of laughter drifting faintly through the cabin windows. And before you can think– before you can stop yourself– he leans in.
It’s slower this time. Warmer.
The porch light hums above you, the cabin glows through the window, and for the first time all weekend, nothing feels like an act.
The kiss feels like the world narrowing to a single heartbeat. The rough slide of his hand against your jaw. The faint taste of smoke and cinnamon on his lips. The warmth of him– real and solid and right– until it isn’t.
Because over his shoulder, through the cabin window, you catch a flicker of movement.
Ethan.
He’s standing just inside the door, half-shadowed by the curtain, a sharp, unreadable expression cutting across his face. You freeze– just for a second– but Jake doesn’t. His hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss just slightly, like he’s making sure the audience gets the message.
When he finally pulls back, you’re breathless, dizzy, the echo of him still humming through you. But his eyes flick briefly past you, back toward the window. He smirks– barely– and it lands like ice water down your spine.
He knew Ethan was watching.
You swallow hard, trying to hide the sting clawing its way up your throat. “What was that for?” you ask, voice light, teasing, like you don’t already know.
Jake’s gaze returns to you, easy again. “Seemed like a good moment,” he says, shrugging one shoulder. “Felt right.”
You nod once, forcing a small smile that feels like it belongs to someone else. “Right. Sure.”
Inside, the door shuts quietly– Ethan’s shadow gone. The noise of the party swells again, laughter muffled by the walls. You stare out over the lake, the rippling water catching streaks of fading gold, pretending you can breathe normally.
Jake leans beside you, exhaling. “Didn’t mean to surprise you,” he says softly.
You keep your gaze forward. “You didn’t.”
He looks at you a second longer, maybe catching the tiny tremor in your voice– but he doesn’t press. He just nods, easy smile slipping back into place. “Guess we should head back in before they send a search party.”
“Yeah,” you manage, turning toward the door. “Wouldn’t want to worry anyone.”
You walk ahead, heart thudding painfully in your chest. Every step feels heavy. You tell yourself it’s fine– that you knew what this was. That Jake’s touch, his warmth, his whispered “sweetheart”s– they’re all part of the game.
But still, the ghost of that kiss lingers, cruelly sweet. You can’t shake the feeling that for a second, it almost meant something, before you realized it was just another scene.
Inside, the room is bright again, full of laughter and chatter. You slip back into your place, grab a plate, pour yourself some wine, anything to keep your hands busy. Jake’s across the room, already charming your uncle, smiling like nothing just happened.
Ethan’s nowhere to be seen.
You lift your glass, take a sip that burns all the way down, and tell yourself you’re fine. You’ve been pretending all weekend, after all. What’s one more lie?
—
The house has gone still. Laughter faded hours ago, the hum of voices replaced by the faint creak of wood and the steady rhythm of crickets outside. You’re lying in the same bed as last night– back to Jake, eyes fixed on the soft spill of moonlight across the ceiling. The air between you feels thick. Not from closeness this time, but from everything left unsaid.
He shifts behind you, the mattress dipping with his weight. “You’re quiet,” he says softly.
“I’m tired,” you lie.
Jake hums low, skeptical. “You’ve been quiet since the porch.”
You swallow hard. “Just a long day.”
“Mm.” There’s a pause. Then, “You can lie better than that.”
You close your eyes. “Not tonight, Jake.”
He sighs, the sound warm against your neck. “Alright.” He settles again, and for a while, it’s silent except for the soft creak of the cabin settling around you.
But the words won’t stay down. They press at the edges of your chest until they spill out. “You kissed me because Ethan was watching.”
The words hang in the dark. A confession. An accusation. A quiet ache. Jake goes still. Then, softly, “You saw him?”
“I saw you,” you whisper. “And I saw the look after. The one that said you knew exactly what you were doing.” You bite your lip, blinking hard. “It’s fine, though. I get it. It’s what we’re supposed to be doing, right? Selling the story.”
He doesn’t answer right away. The silence stretches, sharp and heavy. Then, quietly, “That’s not why I did it.”
You turn your head just enough to glance back at him, his face half-lit in the moonlight. “Don’t,” you murmur, voice cracking. “Don’t say that if it’s not true.”
His eyes meet yours– steady, unguarded. “I’m not lying.”
You shake your head, a sad, small laugh slipping out. “You don’t have to make this easier.”
“I’m not.” His hand moves, tentative, resting against your arm. “You think I planned that? You think I kissed you because he was there?” His voice is low, rough. “I saw him, yeah. But I didn’t care. I didn’t even think about him until after.”
You stare at him, unsure if you can believe it– but something in his eyes makes it hard not to. There’s no teasing now. No smirk. Just honesty. He shifts closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “You said it hurt. I didn’t mean for it to. But I meant the kiss.”
Your throat tightens. “Jake…”
He swallows, his forehead resting lightly against the back of your shoulder. “I don’t know when this stopped being fake,” he admits, the words a quiet exhale against your skin. “But it’s not pretend for me anymore.”
You don’t move for a long moment. Just breathe– slow, careful, dizzy. Finally, you turn to face him, his face so close you can see the tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. “You really mean that?”
He nods, gaze unwavering. “Every word.”
You reach up, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You’re not exactly making this weekend easier, you know.”
He grins faintly, eyes soft. “Never promised easy.”
There’s a heartbeat of silence– then you whisper, “Do it again.”
He doesn’t hesitate.
This kiss isn’t for show. It’s slower, deeper, threaded with everything neither of you said before. His hand slides up to cup your face, thumb brushing your jaw, and you melt into him like you’ve been waiting for this all along. When you finally pull away, your breath catches, the air between you fragile and warm. Jake presses his forehead to yours. “Now you know.”
And you do. God, you do.
The space between you hums, charged.
Neither of you moves for a breath, two heartbeats suspended in the same small pocket of air. Then Jake’s hand finds your waist. A slow, careful touch, like he’s asking a question with his fingers before daring to speak it aloud. You don’t stop him. His thumb draws a lazy circle against your skin where your shirt has ridden up, and the warmth of it sends a shiver up your spine. You shift closer, just enough that your knees brush. The smallest sound escapes you– barely there, but enough.
Jake’s breath catches. “You sure?”
You nod once, not trusting your voice. He exhales, something raw and unsteady in it, and his hand tightens slightly at your hip. The grip isn’t demanding– it’s grounding, like he’s holding on to be sure this is real. Your fingers find the fabric of his t-shirt, curling into it. You feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat through the thin cotton, the heat of his chest beneath. He leans in, and your noses brush, a whisper of contact that somehow feels more intimate than the kiss itself.
This time when his mouth meets yours, there’s no hesitation. It’s slower, deeper– hungry but reverent. His other hand slides up your back, tracing the curve of your shoulder, and you can feel the tension in him– the restraint, the want, all balanced on a knife’s edge. The kiss breaks, barely, but neither of you pull away. You can feel his breath on your lips, the faint tremor of it.
“Jake…” you whisper, and your voice sounds different– softer, unguarded.
He looks at you like he’s memorizing something. “If we start this,” he murmurs, “I don’t think I can stop halfway.”
You meet his gaze, heart pounding. “Then don’t.”
A quiet laugh, low and disbelieving, slips from him before he kisses you again– deeper this time, hands framing your face, thumbs brushing along your jaw. The world narrows to the sound of your breaths, the rustle of sheets, the warmth of skin against skin through too many layers. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathless, hearts racing.
Outside, the crickets still sing. The house is silent. But inside this small, dim room, something has shifted– something that won’t be undone. Jake’s thumb traces your lower lip, slow, tender. “We should probably stop,” he murmurs, though his voice says otherwise.
You smile faintly, “We won’t.”
He swallows, then leans in– just close enough that you can feel the promise in the air between you. He moves, hovering over you with his knees settled against the backs of your thighs. You're both still dressed, but you feel completely exposed.
His touch is soft, his palm warm as it slips beneath your shirt. He doesn't yank your shirt up as you expected– like he wanted to get to the good part fast. You should've known Jake is the type to take his time.
He kisses you again as he soothes his hands over your skin, like he's mapping out the places he touches that make your breath catch. His thumb brushes along the underside of your breast. He breaks the kiss when you gasp into his mouth, and before you can say anything, he's lifted your shirt, exposing your breasts to the chill of the air.
He leans down, pressing a single chaste kiss to your sternum, right over your heart, before he kisses his way to your nipple. They've already tightened, pebbling at the thought of his mouth alone, and you can feel the smirk on his lips as he kisses you directly on the hardened bud.
You let out a shaky sigh, cut off quickly with a gasp when he wraps his lips around it, suckling lightly. Your hand tangles in his hair, trying to ground yourself.
His other hand moves, achingly slow down your waist, snapping the hem of your shorts, “Can I touch you here?” He asks quietly, his words spoken against your skin.
You nod rapidly, letting your thighs fall open further, “Yes,” you breathe it, pressing your hips down against the mattress to stop yourself from trying to buck up against him.
He licks over your nipple, before moving to your other breast, giving it the same attention. At the same time, his fingers slip past the waistband of your pajama shorts. You hum tightly when he ghosts his fingers along your heat, his touch barred by the thin cotton of your underwear that you know you've soaked through.
He pulls away from your chest to glance down at his hand, his view hidden by your shorts, “Fuck,” he breathes, pressing his fingers tightly to you, “Fuckin’ soaked, baby.”
You let out a shaky breath, “Shut up,” you whisper, your face flaming.
He grins, “It's okay, sweet girl, I won't tell anyone.”
You let out a broken laugh at that, your fingers tightening in the sheet when he begins to slowly rub over your clit. You're already shaking, though you don't know if it's from him or the fact this is actually happening. Your best friend has his hand in your shorts.
And he says the dirtiest things.
You knew Jake was probably a little unhinged, he usually said whatever it was he was thinking, but now? It made your cheeks burn and your lower half throb.
He leans down, his forearm beside your head as he pets gently at your hair, “I bet you're so pretty when you come.” You whisper his name, an admonition, and the corners of his lips turn up in a smile, “You're the prettiest little thing, you know that?”
You huff a disbelieving laugh, though it takes effort, because his fingers have sped up, rubbing over your clit through your panties with a purpose.
“Can't believe you,” he murmurs, shaking his head lightly, “Bringing me out here this weekend, making me share a bed with you– like I wasn't completely in love with you already.”
You furrow your eyebrows, “What?” It's breathier than you intended.
“Don't act like you didn't know,” he says quietly.
“I didn't,” you say, interrupted by a much too loud moan escaping when he presses his fingers tighter against you.
He shushes you, pecking a quick kiss to your cheek. “Your parents are right across the hall,” he chastises, “You want them to know what I'm doing to their precious little girl?” You shake your head, bringing your hand up to your mouth, and he grins. “When we get back home, I'm spending all the time in the world between these pretty thighs.”
Your eyes fall shut, and you feel the heat coiling in your lower tummy, “Jake…”
“You gonna come?” He asks, pressing a kiss to your temple, “I want you to. What do you need? You want me to move these pretty panties out of the way? Give you my fingers?”
You can barely manage a nod, he's filthy– lewd and indecent– and you love every second of it. He hums, shoving your panties aside as he slips two fingers into you. You clamp your hand down tighter against your mouth as his thumb rubs tight circles over your swollen clit.
“You feel good,” he whispers into your ear, “Squeezing my fingers just right baby– Can you come for me? Let me have it?” He licks lightly over the edge of your ear, his fingers pumping into you with slick, lewd sounds, “Wanna see how pretty you come. Come on.”
You take a deep breath through your nose, and it hits you. You let out a muffled whine, your entire body tightening with pleasure. “That's it,” he whispers, one hand still working at you while the other pets at your hair, gentle and soothing, “Come on baby– Good fucking girl, come on.” His filthy praise only serves to add to the heat burning through you. Your body twitches, tiny jerks and spasms that have you weak by the time your orgasm has ebbed.
He slows his fingers and his thumb to a stop, but his other hand is still holding you, fingertips stroking your cheek as if you're the most precious thing he's ever beheld.
“You're a fucking dream,” he murmurs, his lips warm against your ear, “You look even prettier than I thought.”
You let out a dreamy sigh, your hand falling away from your mouth, and you pull him to you with shaky hands. You kiss him, though it's not as coordinated as you wished. It doesn't seem to bother him as he hungrily kisses you back.
You pull away for a breath, “Fuck me.”
He presses his forehead to yours, easing his hand out of your shorts, “Believe me, I want to,” he says softly, “But I don't want you to think I just wanna fuck you.”
“I don't think that,” you say, grabbing the edge of his shirt. You yank it up, tugging it over his head before you toss it aside. He watches you with the faintest smile on his lips, “I just–” You pause, pushing yourself up to sit. He leans back, sitting back on his heels as he watches you. “I need you.”
He takes a minute to drag his eyes over you, before he reaches up and pulls your own shirt off of you, “You know how I feel about you, right?” He says, quiet. You nod. His hand on your chest eases you back against the mattress, before he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and underwear. You lift your hips, allowing him to ease your bottoms down, and he tosses them aside. “You know this is more than just sex for me, Y/n.”
“I know,” you breathe, hating the way he says it like a warning. As if there was any chance of you not being in love with him. “It is for me, too.”
He leans back over you, and your fingers hook into his own pajamas. He helps you tug them down. You aren't sure how he does it, smooth and effortless, but you're both completely bare.
Your eyes trail down to his dick, and you let out a surprised breath. You knew he was big– you've both seen some things and known some things about each other, it was part of being friends– but it was… a lot more than you expected.
You almost wished the light was on so you could see more detail, but you could see enough. He was long and thick– and pretty. Before you can stop yourself, you wrap your fingers around him. You take note of how your fingers can't fully fit around it, and you feel yourself clench. He sighs quietly, his hand moving to rest on the pillow beside your head.
You ease your hand up, brushing your thumb over the head, over the precum beaded up there, and you slowly ease your hand back down. His other hand grabs your waist tightly, his thumb gliding along your skin, “Fuck that feels good,” he breathes.
You bite your lip, heat flooding through you. It had an effect on you, a warmth burning you up at the thought of making Jake feel nice. You watch in awe as he rolls his hips once, just the slightest movement, but it makes the length of him push against your hand just right, and you like it. A lot.
His jaw is tight, and you're both watching your hand work at him. You could get him off like this and you'd be perfectly happy, you think.
He has other ideas, though. Because he grabs your hips and knocks your hand away gently. You go to pout about it, but he's angling his hips with yours, and you can feel the warmth of him pressing against your slick heat.
Your thighs fall open further, allowing him the room to move as he needs to. His hand tightens in the pillow beside your head as he teases the head along your center.
He presses his forehead to yours, and before you can say anything about him teasing, he's pressing inside of you.
Your eyes widen, your mouth opening, as he pushes inside. Your walls burn just a bit from the stretch– it'd been quite a while for you, and he was by far the biggest you've been with. It's a welcome burn, an ache that makes your walls quiver and pulse around him as he fills you completely.
“Fuck.”
You both say it at the same time, earning a huff of a laugh from you and a grin from him. He lowers his face, pressing light kisses to your collarbone, “How are you feeling?” He asks sweetly.
“Good,” you breathe, pushing his hair back from his face, “So good.”
“Yeah?” He asks, his voice soft and quiet, “You feel good, baby,” he licks lightly over your skin, “So soft. So fucking wet and warm. Been holding out on me, haven't you sweetheart?”
You huff a breath, your cheeks burning, “Are you always this lewd?”
He grins, looking up at you, “You like it,” he says, quiet.
You don't bother arguing. He knows he's right. Smug bastard. You think you're mentally prepared for him to start moving, but when he draws back, your eyes roll. You can feel every bit– every bump, ridge and vein– dragging along your walls, sending your body into overdrive with every move.
You can't help but dig your nails into his back when he angles his hips, each thrust from him hitting that sensitive place inside of you just right. His jaw is tight, his grip on the pillow has his knuckles white, like he's restraining himself. You pull him closer to you, raising your head and leaving a kiss to his throat. He lets out a low hum at that, returning your kiss with a light nip at your jaw.
“You feel so fucking good,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours.
“So do you,” you say quietly, your hands slipping up to his hair, “Fuck, Jake.” You tangle your fingers until his hair, earning a rough groan from him.
“Yeah?” He says, nudging his nose against yours. You nod weakly, unexpecting it when his fingers press to your clit.
You cry out, too loud, but before you can slap your hand over your mouth, his hand is in place, and he's shushing you for the second time that night.
“You gotta stay quiet, baby,” he whispers, “I know it feels good– we gotta be quiet, okay?”
You nod, whimpering a weak mm-hmm against his palm. He hums low, his fingers working at your swollen clit deftly as he fucks into you, hard and fast. You want to point out the creaking mattress, and inform him that despite you staying quiet, the bed was giving it away, but you can't lie to yourself– you like the way he's handling you. You like it a lot.
He lets out a quiet curse, “You gonna come again?” He asks, nodding when you nod at him, “Yeah I can feel it. You're squeezing me so tight, honey.” Your eyes roll back, and you curse loudly against his palm. He grins, “Come on, pretty girl. Let me feel it. Come all pretty on my cock, go on.”
You come with a muffled cry, your hands digging into his back and tangling into his hair. Your entire body nearly thrashes beneath him as he fucks you through it. Your limbs are weak, twitching and shaking as you come down from your high.
“Fuck,” he grits out, his hand moving down to your waist, holding you almost too sweetly for how he was still fucking you, “I wanna make you come over and over,” he admits quietly, “Prettiest fucking thing I've ever seen.”
You huff a breath, an attempt at a laugh, but you feel weak, and almost shy, “You're so fucking dirty,” you whisper.
He hums, his hands moving to grab your hips, “You're dirty,” he retorts, angling your hips up, sending him hitting just right with every thrust, “Making a mess all over me, being so loud while your whole family's here, fucking filthy little girl.”
You moan at that, quiet and subdued. You hate that you feel like you could come again already, “Jake,” you say softly.
He licks over your bottom lip, without a thought, just focused on you. “Think you can give me another?” He asks in a faux sweet tone, before he nods, "Yeah, I think you can.”
You nod regardless of you doubting your ability to survive another, because you want to. And you want him to. You voice that, meek and almost shy as you tell him you want to feel him inside.
“I'll give it to you,” he promises, “Just gimme one more, yeah?”
You can feel it building already– fast and hot and intense. He fucks into you harder, faster, and if he wasn't holding you in place, you'd be moved up the mattress with every slam of his hips against yours. You grab at his hand, your heart almost melting when he tangles your fingers together and presses it into the pillow by your head. You don't know what provokes you to say it, but you whisper a soft plea, almost ashamed until his eyes darken and his other hand falls to your throat immediately.
“Oh, you're fucking dirty,” he teases you again, giving your throat a light squeeze, “You want it like that?” You nod regardless of the embarrassment trying to flood through you. He hums low, tightening his grip on you, “Come for me, Y/n. Just like before, you can do it baby.”
You want to hate that your orgasm hits you almost immediately at those words, but you can't. Not when your entire body feels as if you're floating, your blood is roaring through your ears, and you can feel yourself squeezing around him so tight you almost worry.
“Fuck–” His hips stutter, and that's the only warning you get, before he's hit his own end. It intensifies your own orgasm, knowing you've both finished at the same time. You can hear him faintly talking you through it, soft murmurs of praise and admiration that you can hardly register as you ride out your highs together
He slows to a stop, his forehead falling to your collarbone. His hands pull away from his previous hold to soothe over your heated skin. It grounds you, easing you back down as your chests heave against each other. His lips trail soft kisses along your collarbone, your throat, whispering sweet words against your skin. You let out a heavy sigh, content and exhausted, “Fuck Jake.”
He grins against your skin, lifting his head to look at you. He looks at you in a way that makes you want to combust– so soft, it makes your head spin. “Why did we not do that sooner?” He asks, brushing your hair out of your face.
You giggle, “I didn't think you wanted to.”
He shakes his head, “Thought it was so fucking obvious.”
“It wasn't,” you say, reaching up to fiddle with his necklaces, draped across your chest in this position.
He smiles at you, “We aren't gonna pretend this is just part of the weekend, are we?”
You shake your head, “I want it to be real,” you whisper.
“Me too,” he says softly, rubbing his thumb across your cheekbone, “My pretty girl.”
Your heart swells, and you bite your bottom lip to hide the over-enthused grin on your face, “I'm so in love with you.” Before you can worry about your admission, he kisses you again, soft and sweet and claiming.
“I'm in love with you too, honey. So fucking in love with you.”
Because the Night: Epilogue. @edgingthedarkness and I welcome you to the final entry to this vampire story. BtN has been a lot of ups and downs through the process - mostly ups and for that we’re thankful. We truly hope that you enjoyed our story of Jake and Taylin. So let’s get to it: the epilogue.
Thank you to @morena-silverstorm (aka Kat) for beta-reading and @seenoversundown and @takenbythemadness for reading her through.
Warnings: Captivity, insanity, revenge, consequences, the burning of mercy and goodbye (graphic sequence).
Word count: Approximately 6400
And a little playlist to see us through the end:
Epilogue - Narin
Sal’s apartment was a cage dressed in silk. Velvet curtains, blood-warm lighting, the faint scent of aged scotch and incense in the walls. Luxurious, comforting— calculated. A nest for something dangerous trying too hard to play house.
I didn’t pace. Didn’t fidget. Didn’t let even a flicker of dissatisfaction break the surface. Sal was always watching. Not with suspicion exactly, but with the kind of reverence men reserve for things they hope can be redeemed. He thought I could be softened. Contained. He thought peace was a collar I’d wear if it came with soft hands and gentler voices.
I smiled for him. Sat with him. Played the part. And beneath it all, I simmered. Jacob’s voice had branded itself into the meat of me. “Mercy”, he'd called it. A future. A chance to live instead of die. But it had always been about him. His guilt. His conscience. His version of salvation for all of us. Sal was the leash clipped to that mercy: Jacob’s last attempt to make me still. Quiet. Rehabilitated.
But I don’t get rehabilitated.
I rot.
I decay beautifully. I curdle into sharper things. I don’t change—I molt.
What they all failed to understand was that I never wanted peace. Not truly. I wanted control. Absolute, intoxicating control over the narrative they tried to force me into. Redemption was their story. Not mine. Mine was older, colder, soaked in the marrow of centuries of betrayal. Salem’s betrayal. Salem… Corley. Spurious. Whoever the fuck he was had no right in all of my existence. His menace in my world was wholly unwarranted. I didn’t want a seat at their table. I wanted to burn the table down and make them watch from the ashes. He was no different than Pastor Chambers or his fucking magistrate Young. All of them thought they could control me. All of them thought that I could take their cocks and shut up about it.
I allowed months to pass, unresponsive to Sal’s conversations. Months where my gaze stayed frozen on a speck of reality on the carpet while he tried to reason away all that he had done, both past and present. My wrists were always bound with his damn silver laced bindings that kept me on his throne. Night after night, I focused on the dull, burning pain the metallic threads caused. Silver may not kill us, but it sure as hell causes a lot of pain in sufficient amounts. I gave no satisfaction of a reaction as he dabbed blood paste to the wounds on my wrists to heal the skin over. I gave no reaction when he brought me sustenance and no pleasure of watching me feed.
All the while I was thinking things through. Silence had become my partner. The lover I needed to guide me through the gilt of this prison that Salem had built for me. Until the time that breathed across my vacancy to return to what needed to be done…
It started with soft things. Eye contact a little too long. Touches on the shoulder. Quiet laughs shared late into the night. He thought it was vulnerability. Healing. Maybe even gratitude. What it really was, was conditioning. He started relaxing around me, letting his guard slip, inch by inch. Not enough for someone clumsy to exploit, but just enough for someone like me to slip through the cracks of him.
When I kissed him the first time, he stiffened. Pulled away. Not because he didn’t want it. Because he knew I was still something wild under all that silk. But he also wanted to believe. That was his flaw. He wanted to be the one who tamed the fire, not the one consumed by it.
So I waited. Kissed him again a week later. Let him come to me that time. Let him linger. He gave in. Eventually. He always would. And the first time he let me feed from him… God, that was the moment I knew I’d won. He tilted his head back like an offering. Like trust. Like love. I whispered my brand of false gratitude into his skin as I bit down.
I didn’t stop.
I drank until his hands trembled, until his fingers dug into my arms in confused panic. I drank past the point of sense, past the warnings in his touch, until his body began to fold in on itself—weak, trembling, hollowed out. I held him. So gently.
“Shh,” I whispered, brushing blood from the corner of his mouth. “You’re fine. Just tired. Let me help.”
His eyes were hazy, glassy with hurt. He tried to move. I kissed his temple.
Then I bound his wrists with the same silver-threaded bindings he had anchored me across the months. Took them from his own drawer. His contingency drawer. Irony tastes even better than blood.
His fangs were bared, but he didn’t fight. Couldn’t.
“You were always the softest on me,” I told him, smoothing back his hair. “So full of purpose. So noble. I wonder if it will comfort you, knowing you were undone by the same hope you tried to gift me.”
He didn’t answer. Just watched me. Quiet. Ashamed. Maybe of me. Maybe of himself.
I leaned in closer, dragging my fingers along the line of his jaw. “I curse you for coming into my life. You tainted me, made me into this warped fool who did not want any of it. I never wanted you… I never wanted you to avenge me. I never wanted you to grant my imbecilic family clemency. I never wanted to kill anything more than you right now, except for Jacob and his bitch.
“You should’ve known better, Sal. I don’t heal. I don’t bend. I break things. And tonight—” I smiled. Wide. Unforgiving. “—tonight, that thing was you.”
“I’ll send someone,” I lied, tying the last knot. “Eventually. I promise they’ll be gentle.”
I kissed his forehead like a blessing and walked away.
By the time the sky began to pink with the morning hours, I was far from the city. The leash lay snapped behind me. Free. But freedom is just the first taste.
Let them believe I’ve vanished. Let them believe I’ve changed. And then, when they’re soft again—when Jacob’s peace has dulled their edges—
I’ll bleed the world dry.
Freedom tasted like blood and dust.
I let a few nights swallow me. I moved like smoke: silent, sour, untouchable. No destination. No tether. Just the open dark and the wind like old ghosts brushing cold fingers over my face. Cities blurred. Forests yawned. Small towns slept quietly as I passed them by, their lights too dim to notice what walked just beyond the trees.
Sal’s silver-threaded restraints had left faint marks on my wrists that were gone now, but I touched the skin sometimes just to remember what he thought he could hold. Fool. For all his age, he still hadn’t learned that something broken doesn’t always stay down. Sometimes, it sharpens.
What to do next? Disappear? Start over? Find a cave and let the years pass in silence? The idea made me want to rip my own skin off. I wasn’t meant for the shadows. I was the shadow. The consequence. The thing that followed behind warmth and mercy, waiting for both to fail. I wasn’t healed. I was honed. And there was one unquenched edge left.
Jake.
I told myself it wasn’t about him. Not really. Not anymore. But I was a liar when I needed to be and no one could lie to me better than myself. His name felt like a bruise when I said it in my mind. A soft place gone rotten, poisoned. Still, I couldn’t forget the way he used to look at me when we were together. Like I was the fire he wanted to drown in. Like destruction was beautiful if it wore my mouth and called his name sweetly.
Now?
Now he had her.
Taylin.
Her name scratched at the inside of my skull, soft and shrill like the first notes of a song I hated. I imagined her hands on him, her voice laced around his thoughts. Her light melted away the pieces of him that once knew how to burn. It made my throat ache.
I found them back in Hopewell. Of course I did. The quaint little nowhere town, dripping with charm and pretending to be safe. It was the kind of place Jacob never would’ve dreamed of with me. Too peaceful. Too domestic. But with her—oh, with her, he probably wanted white picket fences and mornings that smelled like fresh fruit and tasted like forgiveness.
And there it was: The Mirador main house.
I didn’t need to step back inside to still hate it. Everything about it pulsed with the kind of serenity that made my teeth hurt. Big windows, crawling ivy, the kind of porch meant for slow conversations and too much hope. It reeked of Taylin. Of her softness, her promises. Her ridiculous belief that Jacob could be saved.
He used to laugh at places like this.
He used to laugh with me.
I stood across the street in the little grove there for a long time, staring. Watching. Not moving. Letting the ghosts crowd around me. The longer I looked, the more the bile of my anger rose.
I could see him inside, distorted through the windows. He seemed to stand taller now, though he still carried the weight of too much mercy on his shoulders. I could imagine the way he kissed her. How gentle he must’ve been. As if that softness had always been there, just waiting for her to unlock it. But I remembered the other version. The one who didn’t just touch, but claimed. The one who didn’t whisper, but growled. The one who wanted me to end the world with him.
He gave that version up for her.
I pressed a hand to the wrought iron fence that wrapped around their little dream and let the fury bloom again. It filled me slowly, richly, a vintage anger decanted with care. They had carved a future out of the ruins of mine.
Let them think they were safe. Let them keep their illusions, their Sunday evening smiles, their shared bed and moonlit garden walks. Let them believe they had outrun me. Because I would take my time. I would watch. I would unravel them. And when I did, I wouldn’t start with Jacob.
I’d start with her.
I didn’t strike. Not yet.
Predators don’t rush. They study. They savor. So I lingered.
Hopewell became my hunting ground, but not for blood. I stalked the rhythm. Their rhythm. The pulse of their life together. I memorized the sound of their front door when it closed behind him, the way the curtains shifted when Taylin passed in front of a window. I watched the light they lived in and let it sour on my tongue.
From the hills beyond town, I could track his scent through the trees. Still familiar. Still him. But duller now. Dimmed by contentment. He walked differently. Spoke softer. The fire that once licked the edges of his voice had been doused by her presence, as if she’d wrapped him in cotton and tucked him into her ribs.
It made me want to scream.
But I didn’t.
I watched instead.
She tended the flower beds in the early evenings when the shade of the trees covered them as he watched her contently. They made trips into town together, laughed and moved like it was natural. Like they were fucking humans. I saw their pattern unfold over days: mornings and days spent between the bedroom and office space, a walk at dusk, music drifting from their porch on warm nights, and hunts where they shared their kills like lovers would in a public restaurant with bites of each other’s main course.
It was offensive in its simplicity. And it was working. He was slipping further away from who he had been. From what we had been. And yet… sometimes, in the desolate grave of the night, when he’d step out alone and stare at the sky like it owed him something, I’d wonder. Did he still feel it, buried beneath the peace? Did he remember the weight of my name when it was still a promise, not a threat?
I told myself it didn’t matter. But it did.
Taylin moved like someone who thought the world could no longer touch her. Like she’d outrun the story. I watched her brush her fingers along his spine when she passed him. The idea wasn’t just to take something back. It was to burn down everything they thought was safe. Slowly. Beautifully. Until they realized the nightmare of me hadn’t ended— it had just gone quiet for a little while.
And so I watched.
I changed my appearance just enough to walk among the town's people unnoticed— projected brown eyes, lighter hair, quieter posture. I was the shy thing in the corner of the café. The shadow in the alley behind the bookstore. The stranger who always seemed to be just on the outskirts of their surroundings.
Each day, I let her get closer without knowing it.
Each night, I planned.
The stage was set. The audience, unaware. The actors, content in their little fantasy. Soon, I would take my place. And when the curtain rose— they’d learn exactly what kind of monster they had buried alive.
The moment came soft and golden, like everything in their repulsive world. They left the house just like they always did, arm in arm, bathed in twilight. I watched from the grove across the street, crouched low behind brambles thick with thorns. Their laughter floated toward me like smoke. She tilted her head up to him, and he smiled down as if she were the only thing that had ever been real.
Let them smile.
They didn’t lock the door.
Of course they didn’t. Why would they? What could possibly threaten them? This town had turned their caution into comfort. Jake used to check exits, count people, scent the air. Now he whistled while holding her hand.
Sloppy.
I slipped in like a breath through the cracked back door, careful not to leave anything out of place. The Mirador House smelled of lemonwood and old paper. But beneath it all, Jake’s essence lingered like an old scar. I moved like a memory— present, but hidden. Watching myself from the corners. My boots barely whispered over the floor as I walked the perimeter. Their possessions. Their fingerprints. Their threads of domestic bliss. I could have crushed it all in seconds. But that wasn’t the point.
No—my message needed to be quiet.
Intimate.
I found their bedroom bathed in that last wash of evening sun. It was sickening in its comfort: the bed made with care, Taylin’s sweater tossed over a chair, the smell of him still pressed into the pillow. I stood at the foot of the bed, and took the locket from around my neck. My human years lived inside this trinket. Jake had once held the toadstone heart shaped locket like it was sacred. And now, I offered it to her.
Like a relic. Like a curse.
My Jacob would recognize it instantly.
I laid it out dead center on the bedspread, the chain coiled in a delicate spiral as if it had been left there with affection. Then I slipped a folded note beneath it— handwritten the same way I used to pen poems for him in another life.
I can’t wait to see how beautiful this will look on you.
No need for a name. The locket was signature enough.
I didn’t need to linger. The trap was set. I left through the front, even slower than I’d come in. By the time they returned, I was back in the grove. I watched as she entered first, giggling at some cocky thing he had whispered into her hair. Watched as she found the trinket, how her body paused like a caught breath. She read the note. Smiled.
She called out to him: “Jake! What’s this?”
No answer.
She slipped the necklace onto her delicate throat, looking once in the mirror like a girl trying on a future. I drank in the sight. It fit her well. Too well– hanging just low enough to rest against the tops of her breasts. She came downstairs beaming.
“Is this what you had planned?” she asked.
But he was already frozen. His eyes locked on the locket. His breath caught like it had teeth. One step back. Another. His jaw tightened. Lips parted. Then—
Stillness.
Recognition turned his face pale.
That was the moment I had stitched this entire performance around. The devastation. The desecration. He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at me through her. He knew. He remembered.
The weight of that necklace. The blood. The night.
I didn’t need to show myself. Not yet.
This was the first of many little deaths.
A crack in their sanctuary. A whisper in the dark.
I had been inside. Close enough to touch the pillows they laid their dreams on. Close enough to kill them both. But I didn’t. Not yet. Let the locket haunt him. Let her wear my sins against her skin.
Tomorrow, maybe, I’ll take another step.
Tonight, I’ll just let the past breathe down his neck. From the shadows, I smiled. I stayed in that grove, still as bone beneath the thorns, watching their windows flicker to life with lamplight. She wore the necklace all night, I could feel it like a hook in my chest. Jake didn’t touch her. Not once. I saw it in the way he stood near her but not with her. In the stiffness of his jaw. In the way his eyes flicked, constantly, toward the bedroom. Toward the bed where I’d laid my ghost between them.
Good.
Let the space between them grow teeth.
By morning, Taylin was pacing. Confused. Hurt. She didn’t understand why he’d pulled away—why the gift she thought was so sweet now hung like a noose around her neck. I watched her try to comfort him. Her hands reaching for his. And him flinching.
She doesn’t know what he’s remembering.
Oh, but I do.
Let her wonder why her touch burns him now. Let her ask questions she’ll never want the answers to.
By dawn's light, I had circled the perimeter of the Mirador House three times, never breaching it again. Not yet. A second intrusion would be reckless. No—this needs to unravel slowly. I want them questioning every locked door, every creaking floorboard. I wanted paranoia to do my work for me. So I moved through Hopewell like fog, quiet and unannounced. I mapped their routines, watched who they spoke to, how often they walked into town. I smiled at the baker as I passed her shop; let the boy at the florist flirt a little too long. It was important not to just stalk them, but to become part of the very air they breathed. Unseen. Unassuming.
I’d done this before, in other centuries. When Jacob and I used to hunt side by side, we were shadows sewn into the cities we visited. But now? Now it was just me.
And I didn’t have to wait for him to strike.
The second night, I left a blue puya flower, one like he used to press between pages of books, back when we still cared for things like poetry and time. I left it in the kitchen, laid delicately on the counter. It would seem like a romantic gesture, another gift. She might even think Jake was trying to apologize.
He would know better.
Because that flower doesn’t grow anywhere near here.
He’d know it was imported—like the memory of me.
I want them off-balance. Dizzy. Questioning reality. And once that doubt takes root in her, the kind that turns love into suspicion? That’s when I strike.
I want Jacob to beg for the silence of oblivion. I want him to watch Taylin slip through his fingers. To see the trust rot in her eyes. To know that everything he tried to build out of ashes was already crumbling.
When he’s finally broken…
Then I’ll show myself.
They didn’t lock the door. Stupid. Sloppy. Or maybe they were just tired. How little it took of my charms to make them emotionally unravel. I’d done well. My thoughtful gifts, my echoes, my history bleeding into their present... it had thinned them. Worn them down. God, how weak had she made my Jacob to be able to slip into such blindness.
Tonight, I didn’t wait until they left.
I let myself in while they sat in the parlor—her curled beneath a blanket, her head in his hands. The house was dim, hushed, like it, too, was holding its breath. I took the stairs one by one, slow, careful. I wanted to savor it. Wanted to hear the creak in the wood, the familiarity of its groan underfoot. This was my stage now. My theatre. My finale.
They didn’t hear me at first. Not until I let the door to the study click shut behind me. Jake’s head snapped up. Taylin stood, confusion on her plastic, meek features. Her scent was laced with fear and something else that danced across my palet with delight: doubt.
"Hello, Jacob," I purred from the shadows. "And Taylin. My little lamb. You look lovely tonight. That necklace really does suit you."
He stepped in front of her, instantly—how noble. How useless.
I tilted my head. Stepped forward slowly, hands visible, palms open. "Don’t what? I haven’t done anything. Yet."
They backed toward the kitchen. I let them. I let my prey corner themselves.
"Why are you here?" Taylin’s voice, too soft to command anything.
"Because," I smiled, teeth gleaming, "I was bored. And you are so very inviting."
Jake’s doe-eyed panic told me everything; he’d put it together. The necklace. The flower. The memories being rewound and replayed in real time.
"You want to kill us," he said, voice dead-flat.
I laughed. "Kill you? No, Jacob. I want to break you. Piece by piece."
Taylin moved as if to run. Predictable. Sweet. I let her get to the door before I was in front of it, quicker than thought, quicker than breath.
"Ah ah, little lamb" I chided. "The game isn’t over. Not yet."
They backed into the dining room. The moonlight painted them silver and pale.
"What do you want?" Taylin asked, voice trembling.
I tilted my head, eyes narrowing. "To see what you’re really made of. To see what he’ll do. To see if love—your love—is stronger than what’s already rotting beneath his ribs."
Jake stepped forward. A warning. Or maybe a plea. I felt it in my bones—this moment. This thrill. My fingers flexed.
"Let her go," he said.
"I can’t do that," I replied softly, almost tenderly. "She has your heart. And I’ve come to collect."
Then I lunged.
Epilogue - Salem
I had listened and watched long enough. The echo of my boots striking the cracked pavement was nearly drowned by the chaos that had begun to unfold. But for me, time always slowed when the threshold of violence was crossed. The scent of blood—real or imagined—hung like incense in the air, and the night trembled under my arrival.
Chris was just behind me, silent as a shadow, his eyes locked on the writhing shape of Narin. She had lunged, teeth bared, toward Taylin, reckless and rabid. Jake attempted to throw himself between the women, but I allowed my shield to slide and all of my rage to move to the fore of me.
She hadn’t sensed me until it was far too late. With one hand tearing at Taylin’s arm, and the other shoving Jake under her boot, her flared eyes stopped just long enough to search for me. The moment that I made contact, I snapped my fingers. The vibration in the air sought out the delicate bones of her neck, twisting it until each one snapped and collapsed upon the spinal cord. Her body slumped immediately onto them. Jake was quick to shove her mute body away from Taylin to gauge the damage.
I took the few steps forward that drew me over her paralyzed form. Panic throbbed in her expression as she struggled to take in what had just happened to her. The smugness of her once again underestimating me tried to push ahead of the pity that oozed from my spirit.
“Sal,” she rasped.
I stepped forward with the calm of a hanging judge. The kind who already knows the verdict.
“Enough,” my voice cracked like thunder as it rang across the room like thunder.
Silence.
Even the wind stilled for a moment, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
Chris flinched behind me, but I didn’t look at him. Not yet. My eyes remained fixed on the broken heap of Narin on the ground. She would live. For now. I had broken only the thread between mind and muscle, turned her into a paralyzed whisper of what she’d been.
A mercy. One she didn’t deserve.
“You were warned, Narin,” I said, keeping my voice low and composed. “We do not behave like animals for petty anger and blood lust. This petty revenge ends.”
Finally I turned to Chris. “Get them out of here.”
There was no need to say who I meant.
Jake stood rigid, those soft eyes were gone. He wanted justice; justice that I denied him due to my own thread of hope. It was Narin who was the focus of my interest right now. The one who had drawn the burning fury I’d spent a lifetime mastering down on her head. The one who had drawn the old me out.
I remained unmoving for a beat.
The silence lingered, feeling weighted. Jake and Taylin hadn’t dared to move. Chris remained silent at my side, and I could sense the conflict burning beneath the younger vampire’s skin. He was still shaking, just barely, trying to hold it in. Trying to keep from looking at Narin again.
I finally broke the stillness with a deep sigh.
“Chris,” quiet but clear. “Thank you.”
Chris blinked, startled by the words.
“For coming to my apartment. For dragging me out of that place when I would’ve let the rot of Narin take me. For putting me back together. If you hadn’t…” I paused, my gaze sliding to Jake, then to Taylin. “They’d be dead. Both of them.”
The weight of the truth settled around the group like ash. Chris swallowed and nodded once, tightly. He didn’t speak but he didn’t need to. His silence was the mark of someone carrying guilt and gratitude all at once, afraid that words might tarnish them both. I turned my eyes on Jake and Taylin. Taylin still stood frozen, but her fire hadn’t dimmed. She watched me with something layered in her gaze—revulsion, maybe. Maybe awe. Jake standing beside her was coiled like a spring, every inch of him humming with protective rage. I recognized it. I respected it.
“I owe you both an apology,” I said, voice stripped of pretense.
Jake recoiled slightly, but his eyes didn’t leave my face.
“I should have handled Narin long before tonight. I kept believing she could be better. That I could pull her back from the edge she’s been dancing on for decades. I thought—” my voice dipped, rare uncertainty bleeding through that I allowed to be seen. “I thought I was saving her. But I wasn’t. I was excusing her. Fuck, enabling her.”
I let those words settle before continuing.
“And in doing so, I failed you. You should never have been in her sights. That’s on me.”
I gave a small hopefully reassuring nod, as if offering penance.
“I don’t expect your forgiveness,” I said finally. “But I want you to know this won’t happen again. Not to either of you.”
My eyes never wavered from theirs. I wasn't looking for acceptance or approval. I just gave them the trust; sharp, bare and unflinching. I turned slightly, angling my body to shield them from the sight of Narin, her crumpled form still limp on the floor.
“Chris,” I said, low and steady. “I need a few moments alone with her.”
Chris hesitated, glancing at Narin, then at me. He nodded turning toward Jake and Taylin.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s give him the room.”
They filed out without argument, though I felt Jake’s eyes lingering on me the longest. The sound of retreating footsteps faded down the hall. A door creaked open in the distance, then shut. Only then did I kneel beside her. I gathered Narin into my arms, her body slack and heavy with the weight of paralysis. I held her like something fragile, though she had never been that. Not even at her gentlest.
“I loved you,” I whispered. “God, I loved you more than I ever had the words for.”
Her petulance kept her quiet, but her eyes tracked a false narrative of pleading for safety. False. Every scrap of emotion other than rage and self-servitude she ever gave me was false. I was the dumb shit so willing to believe that time would allow her to come around and emerge into an eternal being worth living.
“I remember the first time I saw you. You walked amongst the ruin of that place you called home like you owned every broken stone of it. And maybe you did. You were fury and grace and hunger. And I couldn’t help myself. I followed you like a fool.”
I let out a shaky breath and adjusted my hold on her.
“I wanted to save you. I thought if I just gave you everything—loyalty, love, faith—with enough time, you’d remember who you were. You’d come back to yourself. Come back to me. But you never came back.”
I pressed my forehead gently to hers.
“I dreamed of a world where we could both be more than what we were made to be. Where my love would be enough to quiet your hunger. Where we weren’t haunted by what you’d done, or what we might do next.”
Another beat. Another silence.
“But I was wrong.”
I pulled back slowly, smoothing her hair from her face, brushing away the tear that trailed down her cheek.
“You chose this path. Again and again. I see that now. And maybe I see myself more clearly, too. I wasn’t your savior, I was your excuse. And you were mine.”
I held her tighter for one last moment, letting that confession hang in the air between us like smoke.
“I’ll carry my memories of you with me. Always. But I won’t let you hurt anyone else.”
Outside, through the windows, I could see Chris, Jake, and Taylin had begun to build the pyre. Silhouetted in the dim hush of early morning. The glow of pre-dawn stretched thin and gray across the sky, chasing the stars into retreat.
The flames would come soon.
I looked down at her one last time, memorizing everything. The shape of her face, the curve of her jaw, the way her lashes caught what little light bled in from the waking sky. One last image. One last memory to keep for myself before I let her go forever. Then I stood, cradling Narin against me, and stepped out the back of the house.
The early morning air met me like a curtain lifting on a final act. Chris turned as I descended the steps, his eyes locking with mine. He didn’t need words. None of us did anymore. I gave him a small nod. Chris responded in kind, lifting his hand with slow reverence. I felt the temperature shift, like the world itself inhaled around us. The fire inside him stirred, summoned not with fury but with purpose. Controlled and measured. A flicker leapt from his fingers, dancing toward the pyre like a spark with destiny.
The wood caught immediately with no struggle or delay. Flame erupted in quiet elegance, curling and coiling upward in gold and deep crimson. Not wild. Not ravenous. Sacred. I walked myself and Narin toward it. Jake stepped forward, his body tense. One hand half-raised, as if to catch me or stop me or change what he already knew was coming. His concern wasn’t for Narin—not anymore. It was for me. For whatever broken, burning part of me still clung to something human.
“Sal—”
I didn’t look at him. I didn’t stop.
I stepped into the fire.
The flames accepted us without hesitation. They welcomed her. Welcomed me. Heat enveloped us in an instant—searing, total, divine. The world vanished in brightness and sound, a furnace roaring. Pain bloomed across my flesh, immediately. But I held her tighter.
She lay still and silent in my arms, her flesh already scorching in the heat. But she was older than three centuries. No ordinary body, no ordinary death. It would take days for her to burn completely, even under this fierce flame. Her power clung to her like a second skin, resisting the end. The pyre roared around us, an inferno alive with grief.
Beyond the blaze, sunlight had begun its slow climb over the edge of the horizon—pre-dawn spilling pale gold across the ash-touched grass. Chris and Jake moved in the shadows, the firelight dancing over their faces as they kept their distance. They had cloaked themselves in thick coats, hands wrapped in torn cloth and hoods pulled over their heads. Even so, they flinched against the touch of the coming day.
Still, they stayed. Shielded. Reverent. Silent.
Periodically, one of them would approach the pyre’s edge with arms raised, wood clutched tight to throw onto the flame before retreating again. Feeding it. Keeping it alive. Keeping her burning. I adjusted my grip, arms tightening around her brittle frame.
“I never stopped loving you,” I whispered, my lips brushing the place where her hair used to fall over her ear. “Even when I should have. Even when it cost me everything.”
The fire hissed in answer, devouring her piece by piece. Her skin blistered and blackened, strands of hair curling away like forgotten prayers. I felt the flame struggle against her strength, stubborn as ever even in death.
So I helped it. I opened her veins—my fingertips slicing through what was left of her wrists and throat, letting the old blood drain into the fire like a libation. It sizzled as it fell, catching like oil, feeding the inferno until it surged higher, hungrier.
She convulsed once, involuntary. Her mouth twitched against my collarbone, a memory of pain or breath or both. Then nothing again. The bones beneath my hands began to soften, warp, collapse in on themselves. Flesh turned to smoke. Smoke turned to ash.
And still… I held her.
Her weight had all but vanished when I felt it—hesitation. A fracture in me. A final, selfish ache that gripped my chest and refused to let go. I wasn’t ready. I’d carried her through decades of darkness. I had loved her long before she ever knew how to love herself. And now she was nearly gone, unmade in my arms. My arms where she’d once clung to life. To me.
A tremor stirred in what little remained. Her lips—charred and faltering—moved, just once more.
“Let me go, Sal.”
The words rasped out of her like breath scraped from fire. Barely a whisper. But enough.
Enough to undo me.
My grip loosened.
I let her fall.
The last of her burned clean through, ash scattering like dust on the wind. I stood amid the cinders, my arms empty, my skin split and raw from the heat. Nothing remained of her but the echo of that voice. Those final words.
And still, I stayed.
The flames crackled, then dimmed. The pyre collapsed inward, its structure groaning and falling into itself. The night grew quiet again, except for the soft shiver of wind rustling through charred remains.
I stepped out.
Coal and ember crunched beneath my bare feet. My body was ruined; blackened, blistered, skin sloughing off in flakes of carbon. Beneath it, sinew glistened red with flame-born blood. My ribs strained through the scorched casing of my chest.
Chris took a slow step forward, hesitantly as the dimming firelight caught on his eyes like glass. Jake stared too, words caught in his throat. He moved toward me with hesitation and awe.
“How are you still in one piece?” he asked, disbelief threading through his voice.
I let the silence stretch, just long enough to make it uncomfortable. Then: “Age,” I rasped. “And an inconvenient refusal to die.”
I looked between them, lips splitting into something like a smile. It cracked my charred skin.
“I heard the cockroach comparison, by the way.”
Their silence told me everything.
“Can’t say it’s wrong,” I added, dry as soot. “I am hard to kill.”
Jake flinched just slightly at the realization of being caught. “How can we help you?” he asked softly.
I met his gaze. My mouth cracked open, and something between a cough and a laugh scraped its way out.
“Fuck off,” I rasped, lips splitting with the shape of the grin. “I’ve survived this long. I’ll survive another millennia.”
A pause lingered between us, a strange kind of reverence growing in the stillness. Then Jake nodded, just once, sharp and sure. Chris sighed, like he’d been holding a deep breath since the flames were lit. Taylin, silent until now, stepped forward and placed a hand gently on my shoulder, steadying but not intruding.
No one said anything more. No one needed to.
In that quiet, in that shared ruin, we understood each other. Survivors. Witnesses. Bound not by blood, but by fire and the one thing that had tried to destroy us all. I walked past them: through smoke, through ruin, through the night that still had room for monsters like me.
~End~
This was such a rich world to work in and develop. Thank you to @edgingthedarkness for building this with me. 😘
