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alwaysonthemend · 10 months

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Carpe Noctem | JTK x Reader

Author’s Note: Naming this fic Carpe Noctem in honor of my new tattoo lol. The beginning of this fic is inspired by the shitty date that I went on last night... Unfortunately, Jake did not in fact sweep in to save the day but a girl can dream. I was complaining to @jakeyt and she had the wonderful idea to turn this into a fic so I hope you all enjoy! As always, apologies for any typos/mistakes

Word Count: 4979

Content Warnings: Fem!reader, terrible flirting (bc I can't flirt in real life either), oral (m and f rec), unprotected sex, edging, orgasm denial, p in v sex, slapping, sir kink, pirate kink? idk. 18 + MINORS DNI

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You don’t think you’ve ever been on a date worse than the one you’re on right now – and you’ve been on some interesting ones in the past… But this guy just takes the cake. To begin with, he’d chosen a very expensive steak restaurant in East Nashville and while you’re not opposed to finer dining every now and again, this just seemed like overkill for a first date.

But you’d agreed when the guy had suggested it and had proceeded to spend a far longer time than you’ll ever admit trying to pick out a nice outfit for the date; Time, you came to discover, which was totally wasted given that your date had shown up in basketball shorts and flip flops. And normally you wouldn’t give a damn about what someone else wanted to wear, but damn he could have at least tried a little bit – especially given the location.

Still, you’d persisted and sat down with him – intent on giving him the benefit of the doubt. But he’d quickly let you down, launching into rant after rant about himself and all the amazing things he’s done and about all the places he’s traveled, hardly letting you get a word in edgewise.

The few times that he did actually ask you about yourself, you could tell that he was only asking because he knows that he’s “supposed to.” Everything you said he just turned into another way to talk about himself, and it didn’t take you long before you just gave up on trying to say anything – choosing instead to just sit there quietly and let him go.

By the time the bill was paid (at least he’d had the decency to pay for your meal), you were more than ready to get the hell out of there. You walked briskly to the door with your terrible date hot on your heels.

“Y/n.” He said, turning to you as the two of you stepped outside onto the pavement. “I think this date went really well.”

You open your mouth to protest but he continues on, yet again preventing you from being able to say a fucking word.

“I think we have a real connection, and… I think you should come back to my place tonight.”

Your jaw drops at his audacity and you whip your head around to gape at him. Seeing your reaction, he’s quick to try and backpedal.

“I don’t mean to presume, but-”

“Oh would you just shut the fuck up? Please?” You bite out, and it’s his turn for his jaw to drop in shock.

“Excuse me?” He asks, voice raising in volume. He looks so offended but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“All you talked about at dinner tonight was yourself, you hardly let me speak at all…” you gesture angrily towards his lower half, “you show up in fucking shorts and flip flops – and you have the audacity to ask me to come home with you?”

You’re suddenly so angry you can barely think straight and his stupid face – gaping at you like a fish out of water, is only making it worse.

“Well I’m sorry that I didn’t realize that you’re such a stuck up bitch.” He says angrily, glaring at you as you both stand there staring at each other.

“Oh fuck you.” You say, whipping your phone out of your pocket to call an Uber.

“You wish.” He snarks, turning to leave.

As he passes you, he bumps his shoulder into yours, sending your phone flying from your grip and crashing to the ground. He keeps walking, not bothering to stop or to apologize.

“Douchebag!” You call after him, huffing angrily as he climbs into his car without a second glance back.

You sigh, turning your attention back to your phone lying face down on the concrete. Hopefully it’s not broken, because that would honestly just be the icing on the cake for your horrible night.

Just as you're about to stoop down to grab it, another hand darts out and grabs it for you. Startled, you take a step back, noticing a man standing next to you, holding your phone out to you. You don’t know where he came from, but you’re stunned into silence for a moment upon taking in his appearance.

He’s gorgeous, to say the least: long brown hair flows down his shoulders, and a light dusting of facial hair adorns his top lip. In the dim light of the night, you can just make out his chocolate brown eyes staring at you from beneath his wide-brimmed black hat. His shirt is only buttoned at the very bottom, leaving his chest on display for you. His silver necklace glitters in the moonlight.

“Um.” You say eloquently, trying to swallow around the sudden dryness in your throat.

“It’s not broken.” He tells you, and fuck his voice is attractive too – smooth and lilting in a way that makes your knees weak.

“Thank you.” You take your phone, shoving it into your pocket without even glancing at the screen to confirm that it’s not cracked. “How long have you been standing out here?”

“Long enough.” He says, giving you a smile that makes butterflies erupt inside you.

“So you heard all that, then?” You gesture vaguely in the direction of where your date had gone, cringing at the thought of this beautiful stranger bearing witness to what just transpired.

“Yeah, I heard all that.” He confirms, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Seemed like a real piece of work.”

You nod your head, grinning a little at him.

“I seem to only ever attract assholes, unfortunately.”

“I’m not an asshole.” He says, eyes twinkling in the moonlight. “At least, I don’t think I am.”

It takes you a minute to catch onto what he’s implying, but once you do your cheeks grow impossibly hot under his gaze. He’s attracted to you – the thought seems almost ridiculous given how beautiful he is. He doesn’t seem real with the way he’s standing before you: seemingly appearing out of nowhere and practically glowing under the light of the moon.

“Oh?” You raise your brow playfully at him, “You don’t think you are?”

“I think I’m alright. Most definitely better than that guy.”

“That’s a low bar.”

He chuckles, and the sound of it makes you feel all warm inside. You’re struck with the sudden desire to make him laugh again. You want to hear it over and over and over again.

“I’m Y/n, by the way.” You say, extending your hand for him to shake.

He pulls his hand from his pocket and grips your hand. His palms are warm and smooth, but his fingertips are rough and calloused. You revel in the feeling of touching his skin for the first time.

“I’m Jake.” He tells you, and you can’t help the snort that escapes you. “What? Something wrong with my name?”

You shake your head, grinning from ear to ear as you assess him.

“You just don’t look like a Jake, that’s all.”

He quirks a brow.

“And what do I look like, then?”

You hum, looking him up and down for a moment.

“I’m not sure. William maybe? Or just Will for short.” You shrug, “Just not Jake.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.” He says honestly, tilting his head at you. You can’t help but notice how the moonlight accentuates the curve of his jaw in the most delicious way.

You pause for a moment, thinking.

“It’s a compliment.” You finally assert, nodding your head once as you speak. “You just seem so…” You trail off for a moment, searching for the right word. You can’t think of one.

Jake just laughs again, shaking his head at you. He takes a step closer, and you swear your heart skips a beat.

“Can I ask you a question, Y/n?” He says, voice suddenly a lot lower than before.

“Technically you already did, but go ahead.”

He shakes his head again, lips quirking into a mischievous smile.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He jerks his head towards the restaurant.

You can’t for the life of you think of one reason why you shouldn’t let him buy you a drink.

“You promise you’re not an asshole?” You ask, though your mind is already made up.

“I promise.” He assures you, holding his arm out so that you can link your arm with his.

Grinning like an idiot, you loop your arm with his and the two of you make your way back inside, this time taking your seat at the bar. As you sit, Jake signals a hand for the bartender.

“Whiskey. Neat.” He says before panning his eyes to you. “M’lady?”

That makes you smile, and the butterflies are back in full swing inside you.

“Gin and tonic. Hendrix if you’ve got it.” Jake raises his eyebrow at you again but you ignore it, opting instead to smile at the bartender.

He smiles back before turning his back to make your drinks.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you to be a gin girl.”

You just shrug.

“You most definitely seem like a whiskey guy.”

“Again,” He says, smiling at the bartender as he places your drinks in front of you, “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

“It is.” You say, taking a sip of your drink. Silence lapses between the two of you for a moment before you speak up again. “Mysterious.”

“What?” Jake asks, eyebrows furrowing together in confusion.

“I couldn’t think of a word to describe you earlier when we were outside.” You clarify, swiveling in your seat to get a better look at him. “Mysterious is it.”

“What makes you think I’m mysterious?”

“Dunno.” You nod at his form, eyeing his clothes. “Maybe the outfit… It's very piratey.” That earns a chuckle from him and the sound warms you even more than the alcohol has. “Or how you just sort of appeared – like a knight in shining armor, to save me from the worst date of my life.”

“I hardly saved you. I just picked up your phone.” He reminds you, placing his elbow on the bar top and leaning his cheek against his palm as he watches you.

“Saved me from the boredom of going back to an empty apartment, then.”

He inclines his head, accepting your addendum.

“Happy to help. Though I much prefer to be likened to a pirate than a knight.”

“Righty-o, Captain Jake.” You exclaim, putting on your worst pirate accent you can.

Jake laughs – a full belly laugh, for the first time tonight and you can’t help but preen over eliciting such a reaction from him. His laugh isn’t loud, but it’s downright musical and so very contagious.

Your conversation flows freely after that, as the two of you talk about anything and everything you can think of. Your work – he’s actually interested in hearing what you do and what you’re passionate about (he even asks questions and seeks out more detail as you speak.) His music – it’s very fitting that he’s a guitarist, and you’re in awe at the passion and love that he so clearly carries for his music and his other bandmates. You talk about books, movies, your cat, his brother’s dog – you talk about just about everything, and it seems like no time at all has passed before the bartender lets you know that they’re closing.

Disappointed, you rise from your seat and turn to leave. Quickly, almost as if he doesn’t want you to see, Jake leaves a $100 bill resting on the bar before he turns to follow you. You make no mention of it.

“Thank you.” You tell him as the two of you find yourselves out on the pavement for the second time.

“For what?”

“Restoring my faith in men.”

Jake smiles, sweet and genuine, and his eyes practically sparkle as he looks at you.

“Glad to be of service.”

The two of you are silent for a long moment, both seemingly unwilling for your time together to end. The thought of leaving him… of going your separate ways, almost makes you nauseous. Though you’ve only just met, you feel an unexplainable pull towards the man in front of you – like your very soul is reaching out to him, desperate for some sort of comfort that you didn’t know you needed. Not to mention the dull ache between your thighs that makes you want to latch onto him and never let go. Seemingly reading your thoughts, Jake speaks up first.

“Y/n,” he starts, and you shiver at the sound of your name from his mouth, “I’m trying to come up with a way to ask you this in the least asshole way possible, but I’m failing miserably.”

Without a doubt, you know exactly what he’s going to say.

“Ask anyway.” You demand, taking a step to close some of the distance between the two of you.

“Carpe noctem.” He mutters to himself, and you look at him in confusion.

He just shakes his head. The phrase wasn’t meant for you.

“I’d love it if you came back to my place with me, Y/n.”

“And here I was thinking that you’d never ask.”

He grins wickedly at you, and you get the sudden feeling that there’s trouble waiting for you – the good kind. The kind that makes your thighs tremble and your body weak with pleasure.

“Did you drive here?” He asks, pulling his car keys from his pocket.

“No, I took an Uber.”

“Perfect.” His beautiful white teeth glitter under the light of the night sky and your breath stutters in your chest. He really is stupidly attractive.

The drive to his home is torturous. You’re so close to him – close enough that you can smell him (vanilla and whiskey and his natural musk), but you can’t touch him. At least, not the way that you want to. Not yet.

He looks downright sinful behind the wheel, and you take the opportunity to admire him. Your eyes track the angle of his nose and the way his plush lips look so soft. You watch his adam's apple bob as he swallows and you watch the way his long fingers wrap around the steering wheel. His beauty is like nothing you’ve ever seen – like some divinity coming down from the heavens to bless you with his presence.

“See something you like?”

His question snaps you out of your trance and your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment after being caught.

“Maybe.”

He just hums, the corners of his lips just barely turning up into a smile.

Your body betrays you, and your thighs clench together as you watch him.

He tracks the movement from the corner of his eye and his smile widens. Wordlessly, he drops his right hand from the steering wheel and brings it over to rest on your thigh. He squeezes, pressing his fingertips into your flesh and earning a breathy little moan from you.

Seemingly satisfied with the way you react to just a simple touch, he pulls his hand away from you and returns it to the steering wheel. You ignore the whine that wants to bubble out of your chest at the loss of contact.

After what seems like ages, he finally pulls the car into his driveway. You make the conscious effort to unbuckle yourself and exit the car slowly, trying and failing to conceal how desperate you’ve gotten.

As soon as the front door closes behind the two of you, Jake pushes you up against the wall. A surprised squeak falls from between your lips as he presses into you with his body. He’s warm and solid and your core throbs with need.

His face is close to yours – so close that your lips just barely brush against his.

“Kiss me.” You whisper, not caring about how needy you sound.

“As you wish.” He says, before pressing his lips to yours.

They’re warm and soft and the feeling makes your knees go weak already. You part your lips, allowing Jake to explore you with his tongue. His hands grip your waist, pinning you to the wall as he presses his hips into yours. You slide one hand beneath his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin and the softness of his belly while the other travels up to tangle in his hair. You give it a slight tug, eliciting a groan from him.

“You’re divine.” He whispers, pulling away from you so that he can look at you more clearly.

“Speak for yourself.” Your voice sounds wrecked. You hardly recognize it.

He attaches his lips to the skin of your neck, licking and biting, and you toss your head back to give him better access. He presses one thigh between your legs, and you can’t help but rock your clothed pussy against the hard muscle. It’s thick, and you whimper at the thought of the power that it likely holds.

With shaky fingers, you unbutton his shirt and slide it off him, tossing it somewhere on the floor. He pulls his lips away from you just long enough to pull your own shirt over your head, before he resumes leaving searing kisses down your throat and over the valley between your breasts. As he does so, you take the opportunity to splay your hands over his torso, exploring the feel of his skin beneath you. Everything about his body is solid – a perfect mixture of soft and strong and your mouth waters as you explore him. Though he isn’t a tall man, the power and strength that his body holds is undeniable.

“Jake.” You finally mutter, the ache between your thighs becoming unbearable. “Take me to bed, Captain.”

He smirks and groans, before taking your own hand in his and presses it against his clothed erection. You can feel him – ridiculously hard and throbbing beneath the fabric of his pants.

“Feel what you’ve done to me?” He asks and you nod breathlessly. “So hard it hurts.”

He extracts himself from you, and your body thrums with the desire to press yourself into him again. He beckons you, leading you through his home and up the stairwell to his bedroom. The house is dark, lit only by the moonlight that spills through the windows.

A king size bed waits for you. The room is tidy, with small little bits of messiness that just show that the room is lived in. A pile of books shoved into a corner, reading glasses left out on the nightstand and an empty whiskey glass sitting next to them.

Jake unbuttons his pants and steps out of them before turning to you. Wordlessly, you follow his example – stripping until you’re completely bare. Somehow, you don’t feel overly exposed as his eyes drink in your naked form. The way he’s looking at you: predatory and dark, only serves to stoke the fire between your legs. He wants you – no, he needs you. And you’re more than willing to give him whatever he wants.

At last, Jake slides his boxers off himself, letting them join the pile of yours and his clothes on the floor. His cock, hard and throbbing, springs up and slaps against his belly. It’s just as beautiful as the rest of him – long and flushed red with his own need, and just barely curved to the left.

“Jake.” You whine as he brings his hand up to stroke himself, spreading his precum over his length as he watches you struggle to find words at the sight of him.

Giving up on trying to formulate a coherent thought, you approach him slowly before sinking to your knees. You look up at him, eyes wide, as you silently beg for his cock.

“Let me taste you.” You implore, slick dripping down your thighs.

His eyes are so dilated they look black, and his chest is flushed and heaving as he looks down at you.

“You look like an angel on your knees like that.” He tells you, his voice husky and rough. He traces the velvety head of his cock across your lips for a moment, before pushing the tip between your lips. You relax your jaw and push forwards, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can. He groans loudly, tossing his head back as he nudges the back of your throat. Pressing your tongue into the vein that runs up the underside of him, you slide your mouth almost off him before pushing back down again. You use your hand to grip his base wear you can’t reach, and you use your other hand to massage his balls.

“Oh fuck.” He whines, tangling his fingers in your hair.

You pull off him for a moment and look up at him through your lashes.

“Fuck my throat, Jake.”

He groans and nods as you swallow him again. You brace your palms on his thighs as he rocks his hips, thrusting deeply into your throat. You relax as much as you can and focus on breathing through your nose as he fucks into you. The sounds he’s making are sinful, and you drop one hand to finally rub tight circles onto your swollen clit – the relief causing you to moan loudly around his cock.

His length twitches, and he pulls himself from you and he moans at the string of saliva that connects your lips to his tip.

“On the bed.” He commands, and his voice has lost the softness of earlier. It’s an order, and you scramble to obey. Though you must not be quick enough for Jake’s liking, as he grabs your hips and lifts you – tossing you into the bed on your back. His strength surprises you, and you whine out his name as he settles his weight between your legs.

“You’re soaked, angel.” He says appreciatively, admiring the view of you spread out before him. “Wish you could see how you look right now – dripping and needy.”

You spread your legs wider, trying to entice him to finally touch you where you need him to.

He leans down and kisses up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You whine and toss your head back as he nips at your skin, so very close to where you want him.

“Jake, don’t tease.” You beg him, squirming as he continues to ignore your throbbing cunt in favor of your thighs.

You cry out as he delivers a sharp smack to your ass, the sting of it catching you off guard.

“Patience, angel. I’m calling the shots.” He tells you, and it’s all you can do to nod your head at him.

Another harsh smack lands on your skin, and this time a loud moan escapes you at the feeling.

“Say ‘yes sir.’” He demands, and if you weren’t so desperate, you’d laugh because of course he has a sir kink.

But your mind is far too clouded with lust and you quickly do as he says.

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl.” He says with a sinful smile, smoothing his hand over the red mark that he’d left. “Good girls get rewarded, you know?” He says, before diving downward to lick through your wet folds.

You cry out his name, eyes screwing shut as he eats you out – the pleasure of his tongue like no other pleasure you’ve ever received from someone else.

“Oh fuck, Jake.” You whimper, rocking your hips downward onto his face. His tongue breaches your entrance, fucking in and out of you as the bridge of his nose presses against your clit.

He grips your thighs in both hands, spreading them apart as he lavishes attention on your cunt. The sound of your wetness is obscene, and you’re embarrassingly close to orgasm already.

Fighting to get your eyes to focus, you glance downwards to see him resting between your thighs. He's got his legs kicked out behind him as he buries himself in your weeping cunt and you whimper as you watch him rock his own hips into the bed. He's groaning into your heat, coming undone at the sounds that are escaping you.

“Jake, I’m close.” You warn him, thrashing your head as the pleasure inside of you builds. Just as you’re about to fall over the edge, Jake pulls away. You groan in protest but he silences you with a look.

“I’m nowhere near done with you, baby.”

Slowly, he dips his finger into your folds, swirling through the wetness and grinning like a little kid on Christmas morning.

“You make such pretty noises, Y/n.” He tells you, pressing the tip of his finger just barely into you. You whine and rock your hips. "Almost came from the sound of you alone."

His voice is low – gruff and warm and you wish that somehow it could fuck you too.

"Fuck, I feel like I could explode." He admits, and you whimper at the honesty in his tone.

“More. Please.”

He laughs wickedly and pulls his hand completely from you.

“Greedy little girl. Want me to play you like I play my guitar, angel? Make you sing for me?”

“Yes. Fuck. Yes sir.” You correct yourself, and he smiles approvingly.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

Finally, he sinks his finger into you, messaging your walls for a moment before adding another finger. He curls his fingers, brushing against your sweet spot and your entire body jolts as you moan loudly.

“There it is.” He mutters to himself, repeating the action – sending white hot sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, making sure to hit that spot with each thrust of his fingers, and his thumb circles your swollen clit. Once again, it doesn’t take long for your orgasm to build up in you. This time, you can feel the strength behind it after being denied your release last time.

“Ooh, you’re close aren’t you?” Jake asks, increasing his pace to bring you even closer. “I can feel you squeezing around my fingers.” His attentiveness to you and your body would be sweet if it weren't for the desperation clinging to you as he coaxes you to orgasm yet again.

You can’t reply. All you can do is moan and cry out his name as you approach that edge again.

But you should have known. Jake pulls his fingers from you, denying you your climax once again and you could sob at the loss. You let out a wail, and tears leak from the corners of your eyes.

“I know, baby.” Jake croons, looking down at you in sympathy. “But not yet. Just a little longer.”

Jake sits up and grips your hips, flipping you over and pulling you onto him so that you’re straddling him.

“Ride me, angel. Been thinking about it all night.”

Without hesitation, you line him up with your entrance and sink down. You both moan loudly at the feeling and you bring your hands up to grip Jake’s shoulders for support.

“Oh fucking hell.” He groans out through clenched teeth, “you’re so fucking tight.”

“Jake.” You cry, lifting yourself up and then slamming back down again. Your body feels like it’s on fire – overstimulation and the need to cum battling within you as you ride him. Your thighs burn and your mind is completely overtaken with your need to finish.

“Jake, fuck. I’m gonna cum. M’gonna-” You can’t finish.

“That’s it, angel. Cum on my cock. Let me have it.”

Your climax tears through you – completely overtaking you as you ride out your high, You’re shaking as the pleasure slices through you, and the noises that fall from between your lips aren’t even English anymore. Just animalistic, helpless little noises as you finally start to come down. Your body falters, unable to continue and so Jake flips you over, pressing your back into the mattress. His cock is still inside you, hard and throbbing as he begins to fuck into you.

His hips snap against you, the sound of his skin hitting yours and the sound of your wetness filling the room. You blink your eyes open to see Jake, hair stringy and messy, with his mouth open in a silent scream. He places both hands on the bed on either side of you for leverage, and the muscles in his arms and shoulders flex with each thrust of his hips.

He’s fucking you like no one else ever has – hard and deep and so. fucking. good.

Little grunts accompany each thrust and his skin glistens with sweat in the moonlight.

“Fuck you feel like velvet around my cock.” He’s reckless, driving into you like an animal in rut. All you can do is lay there and take it, eyes rolling back into your head as you let out high pitched, pornographic moans and whines.

“Touch your clit, angel. Take care of her for me. Fuck, I’m so close.” His voice is completely wrecked and his thrusts are growing sloppy.

You bring your hand down to your clit, frenziedly circling it as your entire body begins to tense up.

“Give me one more. Fuck, one more, angel.” He’s begging now, face contorted as he holds himself back – waiting for you to cum again before allowing himself to finish.

“Jake!” You scream, walls clenching around him as you cum. Your vision fades to black around the edges and your entire body shakes and quivers.

“Oh shit. Fuck! I’m gonna cum. Where- fuck.” He’s losing it, face contorting into agonized pleasure.

“Inside!” You manage to say and that’s all it takes for him to explode in you.

The growl that he lets out is sinful as he finally allows himself to cum. His eyes are closed tight and his mouth hangs open as keeps fucking you – riding out his orgasm until there’s nothing left in him.

Spent, he collapses on top of you, breathing heavily and cock growing soft inside of you.

“Holy fuck,” You breathe out, beginning to come back to yourself a bit.

“Mmm.” He mumbles into your skin, lips pressed into your neck.

Jake sits up, and the both of you hiss as he pulls out of you.

“I am so glad that asshole knocked my phone out of my hand.” You say breathlessly, and Jake lets out an honest-to-god giggle. The sound catches you off guard and you can't help but to laugh alongside him.

“Me too.” He smiles, and pecks you on the lips.

“I’m keeping you by the way.” You tell him, brushing some of his sweaty hair behind his ear. "Captain."

He smiles wide and jubilant at you in the dark.

“My very own Elizabeth Swann”

-------

If you're reading this, I love you! 💗

Taglist:

@ignite-my-fire

@demolitionndann

@brujamagik

@mybussyinchrist

@writingcold

@jakesguitarsolo

@sinarainbows

@sinsofstardust

@way-to-go-lad

#dee's writing #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka

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carpenoctem-if · 3 months

Text

Carpe Noctem - Intro Post

DEMO - tba

You are a nobody. A supposedly ordinary human in a world full of powerful beings. Your life is all in all pretty average if not bordering on mind-numbing, like watching paint dry... That is until you were kidnapped and tossed into one especially small carriage to be delivered somewhere only the ancients knew of.

From now on nothing will ever be the same and you need to adapt to the ever-changing outside world as fast as possible. All the while trying to decipher your past and with that your part in an every-growing political conflict that borders to develop into an all out war the world has yet to see.

General content warnings: Bigotry & prejudice, horror elements, interspecies awkwardness, explicit language, depictions of violence, injuries, blood and death, explicit sexual content (if selected), flashbacks of a dark past to unveil, sprinkled with some homophobia here and there & general an unfair treatment of people with disabilities.

FEATURES

-> customizable MC (name, pronouns, appearance, identity)

-> semi-set personality due to evolve (MCs reclusive upbringing forces you to start as someone that's not entirely comfortable with other people and as such you'll be able to choose coping mechanisms your MC will use to compensate such a deficit)

-> 5 characters to romance (3 in book 1, not sure if the other two will follow, they'll probably be fully romanceable in book 2)

-> POVs of the ROs included

-> an open-minded author that is inclined to change some NPCs to fully fledged ROs depending on the general opinion/wishes of readers

-> an emotional roller coaster, all in all nothing for ppl that want a light-hearted theme

-> later on you'll be able to choose part of your race (vampyres, merpeople, demons, shapeshifters, phoenixes -and many more) & with that you can determine and further develop your special skillset. Your heritage will reward you with quite different flavour texts for every possible race there is, so yes. It will matter greatly what you chose. And each of the available races will have disadvantages that could prove quite...fatal in certain situations.

romanceable characters:

the master [Alois|Alice|Alix] (m|f|n) 24 winters

An aloof demeanor at the first glance, A has a cold, strangely shrouded gaze. They're reclusive as fuck, so there isn't much the general population knows about them. Oh. And A is your esteemed master -as if any of you actually want this dynamic... A seems to hate you and your position even more, especially the hidden context it supplies to everyone they meet...

A has almond-shaped silver eyes that always seem distant and unfocused. They have defined cheek bones with mostly soft facial features and quite long, silver hair that is often tied to a simple ponytail. A wears fine dark clothing without other prominent features to despict their wealth.

Content warnings for A's route: denial of feelings aka one of the slowest burns imaginable, domestic violence, implied/referenced rape/non-con, anxiety attacks, self-harm, angst & hurt/comfort

the protector [Leto] (m|f|n) too many to count

Leto is a raven-like creature most would describe as monstrous-looking. They are rarely seen and the few moments they are, death is certain. For many commoners it's enough to see one of Leto's black feathers to warrant a swift escape.

Their past eludes them and you have to wonder - why does some antics of them seem kinda...familiar?

Content warnings for Leto's route: survivor-guilt, body dysphoria, angst, captivity & enslavement, torture, ptsd

the assassin [Zane|Zoey] (m|f) 28 winters

Z is everything their mother wanted them to be. Her own personal weapon. One she is now inclined to use for her vendetta against you.

They have dark brown hair with intelligent hazel green eyes that seem to observe their surroundings constantly. Z was raised with stories about you, stories you know nothing about. How can it be that they seem to know more of you and your family than you yourself?

Should it worry you that they sound extremely resolute in stating their sole purpose is to rid the world of your existance?

Content warnings for Z's route: enemies to frenemies to lovers, eating disorder, alcohol-addiction, a tendency of morbid jealousy, past emotional abuse & manipulation

??? [redacted]

??? [also redacted]

more info tba

Small note of the author:

Everything is slow burn in this - even the character customization, cause I want to add those moments seamlessly into the story.

I tend to take my time. You can expect me to heavily focus on the characters and their feelings, with a slight disregard to describing the environment and such. I work with minimalistic efforts to still give a sense of what I imagine everything to be but with the intention to leave fine details to the reader's own imagination.

I'll try to be considerate of everyone's preferences, especially in the more kinky parts of the story. There'll be versions for more assertive characters as well as more passive one's. Though I should add that the ROs all have their own set of bias that they prefer. However there will be growth throughout the story, including that.

The gravity of your choices will intensify throughout book 1, especially as you get to know the Circle and the Court and every other political hive of intrigue.

And yes. You can die. The ROs can die. Almost everyone will be able to at some point, I guess. Though I don't like the idea of writing a total distopia, don't expect me to change my mind regarding that one that easily.

More infos will be added over time. I'll post lore snippets of my sketchbook soon, like the worldmap, the general outlines of the Circle & the Court, the different races and such.

Asks are welcomed.

#interactive novel #interactive fiction #wip if #choicescript #lgbtqia

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been-around-seen-things · 8 months

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Even more Eps 6 and 7 thoughts because I can’t stop thinking about them

Thanks to numerous helpful conversations with pirate friends, I have gone on quite the journey in my understanding of Stede and Ed’s sexual encounter in ep 6. I’ve gone from “noooo not like that” to “okay, I can deal” to “this is the only thing that makes sense for them for so many reasons.” Neither Stede nor Ed is in a genuinely healthy emotional place. Given Stede’s trauma response to the choice he made just prior, it’s entirely understandable for him to seek what solace he could from the person he cares about most. AND they just watched each other be tortured! Why wouldn’t they carpe noctem?

Truthfully, I don’t think I’d have started with such a negative interpretation if I’d seen only ep 6 and not 7 right after. Sure, they rushed into it; certainly, it wasn’t going to erase Stede’s trauma. But the whole near-death experience of it all raised the stakes, and two people who are obviously in love (even if they’re still not fully communicating) had an incredibly human reaction to surviving the situation they found themselves in. Adding 7 into the mix initially made it feel not worth it to me—I found what Stede couldn’t help but take as rejection after his first meaningful, truly wanted sex so very gutting. But the guys certainly weren’t thinking ahead like that, and their split shortly after doesn’t undercut that that moment of physical connection actually lined up perfectly with who they are with all their flaws as well as the heightened intensity of what they’d just been through. So now I think it’s messy but brilliant and more appropriate than something more idealized could’ve been. The latter simply wouldn’t have rung true for them; not yet.

Well played, DJ&co.

#ofmd meta #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #gentlebeard #stede bonnet #edward teach #blackbeard #our flag means death

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sinkingteethinwhitenoise · 5 months

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Carpe Noctem - Nick Folio

Pairing: Nick Folio x Celia (fem!OC)

Warnings: SMUT/NSFW 18+ ONLY, oral (fem!receiving), unprotected p in v, kissing, masks, gloves

Word Count: 3k

Carpe Noctem (Latin) ~ Seize the night; Enjoy the pleasures of the night

Celia’s heels clicked on the concrete as she walked up the packed driveway. Her golden hair flowed with the gentle, frigid breeze. A shiver went down her spine. She would blame it on the cold weather, but she knew that every time she approached the dark, castle-like mansion, she would get an eerie feeling. For a moment she thought she should have dressed warmer, feeling much too chilly in her formal wear: a floor length red dress with a high slit, a straight neckline and thin straps. The diamond necklace around her neck and the skinny chain bracket around her wrist felt like ice against her skin. However, she knew that due to the sheer amount of party goers that were bound to be inside would soon have her sweating beneath her red, bejeweled half mask. As she approached the front porch, she saw long, curly black hair being illuminated by the warm, dim light from the sconces on either side of the glossy black front door. A smile crept up onto her glossy red lips as she approached. “Hey Phoebe.”

Phoebe was Celia’s best friend since grade school. And her parents were loaded. Each year they held a masquerade ball on New Year’s Eve in their impressive gothic mansion. Each year, since Celia has been old enough, she attended. And each year the party always seemed to be more extravagant than the last. A happy squeal left Phoebe’s closed lips as she turned and hugged Celia. “Thank God, you finally made it!” She beamed. Celia returned the hug and once they pulled away from each other, Phoebe linked their arms. “Come on! I’ve been dying for a drink.”

The only word that could describe the inside of the mansion was ornate. The walls were painted black. Fine art lined the walls, each piece sat perfectly inside of gold antique frames. Gold sconces lined the walls between every other painting. Each seat was draped in dark red velvet. An elaborate, crystal chandelier hung from the middle of the tall ceiling, sparkling and filling the room with dim, warm light. It was a vampire’s dream estate.

Celia’s hazel eyes scanned the room as Phoebe led her through crowds of people and to the bar. Men and women were dressed to the nines, all in their best suits and dresses, all in masks. Most wore half masks like herself, others opted for full masks. She knew most of the people in attendance, but she couldn’t pick anyone out of the crowd quite yet, not with the quick rushed glances she was able to take while being dragged to the bar. They finally stopped walking and Phoebe grabbed two crystal champagne flutes, her gloved hand carefully handing one to Celia.

She brought the crystal to her lips as she scanned the room once more. Some guests were seated, listening to a story told by a tall man in a red suit, hanging onto his every word. Others were standing, chatting in small groups throughout the room. There were couples dancing to a beautiful Waltz, their steps perfectly in sync. And-

There was someone staring at her.

From across the room she met a set of deep brown eyes behind an all black half mask, it seemed to be textured but from this distance she couldn’t make out the details of it. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. He wore a black dress shirt underneath, no tie in sight, as well as a shiny pair of black loafers. His hands were hidden inside of black leather gloves. His hair was neatly slicked back. The mask was small enough to notice that he had a square jaw and full lips. It was also small enough for her to know that she had never seen this man before. She reached for Phoebe, eyes still locked with the mysterious man’s. “Hey, who’s that?” She questioned.

By the time Phoebe looked where Celia was looking, the man had turned his head. They both stared for a moment, Phoebe tilting her head before shrugging. “Not sure,” she hummed, turning back to look at Celia. “Maybe someone’s plus one? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before.”

“And you’re not concerned about that?” Celia looked at her, confused expression hidden by her mask.

Phoebe shrugged, “Not really. My parents invite more and more people every year.” Then she was waving at someone and rushing off in their direction. She must’ve recognized them even with their mask on. And vice versa. Quickly, Celia downed the rest of her champagne and grabbed a new glass. Then she followed after Phoebe. Odds were that she knew the person too.

After about an hour of mingling, Celia’s feet were begging her to sit down. She walked around until she found an empty seat and sat down, crossing her legs. She ran her hands across the crushed red velvet she was seated on; it was soft under her fingers. Her mind drifted to the mysterious man that was staring at her earlier. She wondered how he looked under that mask. She wondered if he was actually looking at her. He couldn’t have been. Right? There were so many people around; he could’ve been staring at any one of them. Then why did it feel like they made eye contact?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice that came from right next to her. “Is this seat taken?”

She looked over to the source of the voice, a man standing beside the chair next to her. Her eyes drifted to his masked face and she realized that it was him. Now that he was closer, she noticed that the texture to his mask were little gears. It reminded her of steampunk.

He stared at her expectantly. She shook her head and motioned at the seat with her hand. A small, closed mouth grin spread across his face as he sat down, not taking his eyes off of her. She felt somewhat…small under his gaze, but somehow…not uncomfortable.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” the man asked.

Celia nodded as she turned to face him completely. “I am. Are you?”

The man nodded. “It’s a nice party,” he murmured. “How come you’re over here by yourself?”

“Oh, I’ve been mingling for the last hour and my feet needed a break,” she said, giving him a soft smile.

“Yeah? You know a lot of people here?”

“I do,” she nodded. “I’ve been coming to these parties since I was 16.”

“How old are you now?”

“26.”

He broke out into a big goofy smile. “Me too,” he beamed. “This is my first time here. My friend invited me. But I lost him pretty much as soon as we walked through the door.”

“Lots of people, a big house, everyone in masks, it’s pretty easy to lose someone,” she said with a shrug. “So you only know one person here?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. Then he met her eyes. “Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll know two.”

She felt a blush creep onto her cheeks as she tried to suppress a giggle. “Maybe you won’t need luck.”

She watched as his eyes looked her up and down, “What’s your name?” he asked her.

She could’ve told him. She wanted to. But her desire to be mysterious for a little bit longer was overriding her desire to tell him. Instead of responding with her name, she just smirked at him. “Would you like to dance?”

His eyes got noticeably wider, clearly not expecting the question. “I don’t know how to Waltz.”

“I’ll show you, then.” She stood up and reached for his gloved hand. He gladly accepted.

Celia was facing him, she grabbed her right hand with her left. “Place this hand between my shoulder blades.” Once he did, she placed her left hand on his right shoulder. Then she grabbed his left hand with her right. “Now, just follow after me.” She began the steps with a swiftness. It took him a few minutes of nearly tripping over his own feet, but eventually, he got it well enough to where neither of them were in danger of falling. “There you go,” she grinned. “You’re a natural.”

“Thanks,” he said, grinning back with that goofy smile of his. “You never told me your name, by the way.”

She chuckled softly, “You know the whole point of a masquerade ball is to conceal your identity, right?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. Of course. Right,” he nodded. After a silent moment he spoke again. “What if I tell you my name first?”

“Depends,” she hummed. “If your name starts with a ‘J’, not only am I not telling you my name, I’m walking away,” she joked.

He fully laughed at that. “Nick,” he said through laughter. “My name is Nick.”

She laughed along with him. “Oh thank goodness. Not a ‘J’ name,” she teased. “Nice to meet you Nick. I’m Celia.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” he smiled, his laughter dying down.

“You can’t even see my whole face, Nick,” Celia giggled.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “And I don’t need to. You’re beautiful.”

“So, you don’t want to see my face is what I’m hearing?” she joked, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Need and want are two different things,” he grinned. “I don’t need to see your entire face to know that you’re absolutely gorgeous. But, I do want to see your entire face at some point.”

She felt like her face was burning up. She was absolutely flustered. But she didn’t want to let that show. “Maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll see my face around midnight,” she shot him a wink. “But I want to see yours too.”

“What do I have to do to turn that maybe into a yes?”

She smirked, “Make my night, Nick.”

Several hours and glasses of champagne later, they’d learned a bit about each other. She learned that he loved to play drums, ride motorcycles, and fish, trout specifically. He’d grown up in the town over and pursued drumming right out of high school. He learned that she loved to dance, crochet, and read books, mysteries specifically. She worked as a dental hygienist at an office in town. They discovered that their senses of humor were similar. It seemed that there wasn’t a moment that they weren’t laughing at something the other said.

Maybe it was the liquid courage, or maybe it was just the fact that they were so drawn to each other. But Celia found herself leading Nick to a room upstairs, and he followed her more than willingly. Once they entered the room and locked the door, he had her backed up against the wall. He leaned in to kiss her, but she lifted her hand and pressed her pointer finger to his lips. “You can’t kiss my lips until midnight,” she whispered. “Nor can you take off my mask. Or your own. Those are my only conditions.”

“Anything you wish, Celia,” Nick whispered back. He tilted his head and pressed his full lips to her neck. She moved her hair and stretched her neck to give him better access. He kissed up and down the expanse of her neck until he placed a kiss upon her pulse point. A shuddering sigh escaped her parted lips. “Right there?” he murmured against the skin. The soft whimper that followed was all the answer he needed. He began to nip gently at the skin above her pulse point. The crown of her head softly thudded against the wall behind her, quiet whimpers left her mouth.

When he pulled away, the slightest hint of a mark was left. He groaned at the sight of it in the low light. He began to kiss down her chest until his lips hit the neckline of her dress. The next thing she knew, he was on his knees before her. He looked up at her through his mask, eyes wide, pupils blown. “May I taste you?”

She looked down at him, “Please.”

He smiled at her, not a smirk, a genuine smile. He didn’t seem smug about the situation. He seemed happy, grateful even. He placed his gloved hands on the back of her calves before slowly sliding them up her legs until they met her panties. He began to slide them down her legs, noticing as her breathing picked up. “Are you okay, honey?” he breathed, pausing his actions to look up into her eyes.

Her heart nearly burst at the action and sight before her. “Yeah,” she breathed, a small giggle prominent in her words. “Keep going, please.”

Nick leaned forward to press a soft kiss to the skin of her thigh that was exposed by the slit in her dress as he pulled her panties down the rest of the way. Red lace pooled at her ankles. He looked up at her once more. “Can you hold your dress up for me?”

Celia nodded, her hands grasping her dress and pulling it up to expose herself to him. She watched as he looked directly at her center. He licked his lips before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her clit. While there wasn’t much pressure to it, she found herself moaning anyway. This encouraged him to slide his tongue through her folds and back up to her clit, flatting his tongue with a groan. Her hands gripped the fabric of her dress harder, her knuckles turning white. He continued to lick her until he knees began to shake and his face was covered in her slick. “Nick,” she whimpered. “I’m so close.”

With those words, he pulled away from her. “Do you want to…?” He trailed off, as if shy to ask for sex, even though he just had his face buried in her pussy.

She nodded as she tried to catch her breath. “Please,” she whimpered. “I need you.” She let go of her dress, letting it fall to its normal length as she reached for his hand. He stood up and walked him to the bed in the middle of the room. She lay on the bed and he followed, hovering over her as her legs spread open for him. She heard the clink of his belt and the zipper of his pants. Then she felt the head of his warm cock tapping against her clit, drawing a mewl from her. He ran the head through her slick folds a few times before he began to push in, her back arching off the bed as he filled her.

Once she adjusted to the delicious stretch, she grinded her hips into his, urging him to move. He started off with slow, deep thrusts. Each thrust resulted in a breathy moan from Celia and a deep grunt from Nick. “Go faster,” she whined after a while. It felt great, but she needed more. Nick was happy to oblige, quickening the pace of his hips, slamming into her at a mind breaking speed. She had to force her moans down; force herself to be quiet.

Her walls began to pulse around him. Nick knew what that probably meant. He snaked his hand between their bodies and pressed his thumb to her clit, rubbing it in quick right circles. Celia’s back arched off the bed as she tried, and failed, to hold back a loud whine. “I-I’m close,” she whimpered for the second time of the night.

“Come for me,” Nick breathed. His thrusts were getting sloppy as he got closer himself. Shortly after his demand, she pulsed around him uncontrollably, bringing a hand to her mouth to suppress the uncontrollable moans escaping her. He managed to keep himself under control through her entire orgasm. “Where do you want it?” he asked frantically once she had ridden through her orgasm.

“Inside,” she breathed. “I’m on birth control.” That was all Nick needed to completely come undone. He buried himself deep inside of her as his cock twitched and unloaded all of his seed.

He slowly pulled out after his orgasm, causing them both to groan from the loss. He laid next to her for a moment, both of them catching their breath. After a minute, Celia stood, put her panties back on, and adjusted her dress. She walked over to the mirror that was in the room and fixed her hair as well. Nick stood and fixed his pants before walking up and hugging her from behind. “Did you enjoy yourself,” he whispered in her ear.

She turned to face him. “Of course I did,” she grinned. “Did you?”

“Absolutely.”

She couldn’t help but giggle. “Do you have the time?”

Nick pulled his phone from his pocket, “11:45.”

“Would you like to be my New Year’s kiss?” She asked, tilting her head.

Nick nodded, “I would love to be your New Year’s kiss.”

She grabbed his hand, “Come on, then.”

30 seconds until midnight, everyone in attendance stood downstairs with a glass of champagne, waiting excitedly for the ten second countdown. Celia stood with Nick, arms linked. She looked up at him. “How about we take our masks off when the countdown starts?”

Nick looked down at her with that amazing goofy smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

Before they knew it, the countdown was starting.

“10!”

They made eye contact.

“9!”

They pulled their masks off.

“8! 7!”

“You’re so beautiful,” Nick whispered.

“6! 5!”

“You’re so handsome,” Celia whispered back.

“4! 3!”

They stared at each other, eyes wide.

“2!”

They began to lean in.

“1! Happy New Year!”

Their lips met in a passionate kiss. Both of their masks dropped to the floor so they could hold each other’s faces as their lips moved perfectly in sync. So perfectly in sync that any bystander would have figured they’d kissed hundreds, even thousands, of times before. And they both knew at that moment that this wouldn’t be the end of them.

#bad omens #nick folio #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #nick folio fanfiction #nick folio fanfic #bad omens smut #nick folio smut #nick folio x oc #nick folio x fem!oc #sinkingteethinwhitenoise

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sacredjake · 8 months

Text

Carpe Noctem

pairing: Jake Kiszka x Siren!Reader

warnings: MDNI 18+!!! blood, death, killing, angst, cursing, supernatural elements, brief mention of weapons and minor assault, guilt, talk of dying, smut, fluff, soulmate au

word count: 13.8k

This fic will display themes of death and killing, and i will do my best to tag every warning, but if i miss one please, please, please bring it to my attention.

As Nympha Legatus of your pod you must do what it takes to complete the duty bestowed upon you and your sisters. Even if it means killing the man you love. Will fate continue to haunt you or will you give in to what you truly desire?

a/n: this fic has been almost a month in the making and even longer in the brainstorming stage and i am so excited to share it with everyone! thank you @malany-gvf for always helping me talk out the ideas i have. huge, massive thank you to @gold-mines-melting for giving endless feedback, support and suggestions and taking time to read this and edit it. i appreciate and love you both so much, thank you from the bottom of my heart <33333

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Light from the full moon overhead illuminated your already glistening skin every so often as clouds passed by. The silver rays that shone upon you reflected a scene like the ocean you had emerged from, like moonlight glittering off the waves. The night was misty, rain falling lightly as your pod walked through the streets towards the closest club or bar. Forgoing the need for a coat, raindrops dotted the exposed areas and rolled off seamlessly disguising the naturally dewy texture of your skin.

The rain was purposeful, a product of your magic to blend in better with the humans. If not for that you would look even more out of place with the way your skin looked wet even when dry. It was also a way to ensure everyone was hydrated and avoided drying out. While a quarter of you would not return tonight, at least it would not be from lack of water.

Scuffing from shoes on gravel and rocks being kicked were the only sounds echoing through the dark streets. Some of your sisters were still getting their bearings, it being their first night on legs and all, stumbles were to be expected. Wearing shoes was a major adjustment, but to fit in, shoes were a necessity.

Oh how you missed the days when the humans walked around barefoot. Things were so much simpler then. Before him.

You shook the memory out of your head before it snowballed any further. Now was not the time for that. Focus.

Red light caught your eye as it reflected off puddles and the shiny black gravel. Your eyes followed the trail, landing on multiple different neon signs lighting up the club your pod approached. Like you had expected there to be, a long line formed outside the bar of humans waiting to get inside. At the front stood a tall, large man wearing a tight black shirt and jeans with his arms crossed looking over the line.

Sarenya stopped beside you, and your sisters who followed closely behind mirrored both your actions. She turned to face the pod as you eyed the bouncer a bit longer, sizing him up. When she began to speak you turned around and met the faintly glowing eyes of your younger sisters.

Another distinguishing trait that showed you were not human.

Nymph’s eyes were usually different from the humans’. The color of one’s eyes determined their age and their status. While a siren’s eyes were green in the early stages of their life, red during their middle age and silver in their later years, a mermaid’s eyes were blue, purple and then gold in their respective life stages. The commonality between the two? Every nymph’s iris sparkled. No, not like that disgusting glitter humans loved so much that stuck to everything. Within each iris lay a million tiny flecks of their color in a lighter shade, reflective and bright. And definitely not human.

And yes, mermaids and sirens were both sea nymphs. Humans always tried to make different categories for everything they knew little about, but it was not that complex. Although the technical terms back home were oceanids and naiads, you had learned long ago that people on land had left their original names behind. It didn’t matter much to you honestly, you were all children of the sea, and there wasn’t much difference between a mermaid and a siren anyways beside your eye color and abilities.

Everyone knew sirens had beautiful voices, but this was merely an amplification of their compulsion. While sirens couldn’t compel any other sea nymph, it worked on every other living being. But that’s just the most well known ability. Sirens can also manipulate water, and alter the way something may appear to others. Illusion was the most useful ability a siren could use on a night like tonight.

A mermaid’s abilities were different of course. While sirens could manipulate water, mermaids could control the state of water turning it from liquid to gas to solid. Hence the rain, a combination of both your powers working together. Their most useful power for tonight, however, was their ability to control the emotions of others.

“Alright, we have a few fleshlings with us tonight so we’re going to go over how this works.” Sarenya addressed the pod since she was tonight’s leader. “Use your abilities, rule number one. We are here for one purpose and we must do whatever it takes to achieve that goal. Rule number two, do not leave any damning evidence behind. We do not need a repeat of 1986 where a scale was left behind for a human to find and cause a frenzy. Rule number three, the humans can be quite attractive, but do not forget that they are not one of us. They are food, not mates. Kill them and move on. Fail and you will die. We can not survive on land.”

At the end of her rules she caught your eye, speaking the last one almost directly to you. Like a reminder. As if you needed one. It made your chest hurt, your heart being squeezed torturously by an invisible vice.

She was right though. You only got one night on land, one night to quench the insatiable thirst and gather enough blood for the members of your pod who were not allowed to join the hunt.

Sea nymphs didn’t rely on blood to survive, it’s not the main source of food. Proteins and sea veggies like kelp and seaweed were a big part of an everyday diet. But human blood was a delicacy, and the key to immortality for a nymph. Just a drop of their blood, and a few ingredients, and you had the key to another ten years of youth.

“We only have nine hours until sunrise. I do not care what you do in that time as long as all of your vials are full when you return and you follow those rules. Remember, when the sun comes up this is finished. If you do not make it back to the ocean by then… Well you get it by now.” For a mermaid Sarenya was quite blunt and cold, but when so many of your sisters fail to return over the years you kind of have to be.

“Fleshlings stick by me until I say otherwise, everyone else, you know what to do.” Her golden eyes landed on yours once more with a reassuring glint to them before she strode off towards the bouncer, fleshlings in tow.

The two of you had been overseeing your pod’s hunt since 1693 when you were both promoted to Nympha Legatus, or Nymph Lieutenant. Rising in rank isn’t an easy thing to do, and it was rarely heard of especially since they usually lived forever, but that was an unusual circumstance. The hunt had started out as it usually did with the Nympha Legatus, Nymerian and Tessaya, leading your pod on the shore before breaking off for the night. As the night progressed things went horribly wrong. It had been a year since anyone had been on land and no one was aware of the witch mania that had overtaken the town of Salem. Along with a few others, Nymerian and Tessaya were captured, accused of being witches and thrown in jail to which they never made it back to the sea. Upon returning to the Nympha Ducem, Nymph Commander, you and Sarenya were the only two old enough within the pod to assume the position which required one mermaid and one siren. Since then she has been by your side through everything. You looked out for one another and always made sure the other made it back to the sea even if they had wavering thoughts.

“Alright everyone, you heard Sarenya, you do what you need to and get back to the beach before sunrise. This isn’t your first Hunt. You know what to expect and how to handle it and we expect you to do just that. Enjoy yourselves, but don’t return home empty handed. Good luck…” Your silver eyes flitted to each of theirs briefly before continuing on the last note before separating.

“Carpe Noctem.” Their voices mingled with your own as they recited the phrase with you. Sharing smiles, you and the pod turned towards the bar and made your way to the big guy in front of the door.

Convincing him to let you in was easy. There was no need to use compulsion on him, your beauty taking care of that all on its own. When he asked for an I.D. however, you knew you had to turn it on. Pretending to look for the nonexistent item you pat down your pockets before giving him a sad, doe-eyed look.

“Oh no… It seems like I left it at home. If I tell you a secret will you let me in?” You could feel the power roll off your tongue, sweet and thick like honey coating each word. The bouncer’s eyes glazed over and he leaned forwards at your request.

“You don’t need to see my I.D. or any of the girls behind me. You know us.” He straightened back up, his eyes still in a haze.

“Oh I didn’t realize that was you! Go on in ladies, I don’t need an I.D. for my best girls.”

There was muttering from the line of humans behind you. Most of them were women expressing their displeasure and jealousy and some were men who were fawning over you and your sisters. Human men were so simple, each one of them the same as the last, year after year. All but one had ever shown you any difference.

The bouncer opened the door and stepped aside letting you walk past him into the crowded bar. Cigarette smoke lingered in the air and blurred your vision slightly as you push through people to find an empty spot to sit. In your experience the hunt always worked better when you let the humans come to you. It was nice to sit and enjoy your time on land, appreciating the music, observing the humans and their strange behaviors, and savoring the cocktails they made. There was work to be done, sure, but you had the time.

After an hour had come and gone of observing and accepting drinks from different men you had found yourself in conversation with one. And by Zeus was he the most obnoxious human you had ever met. Ethan, or so you think you heard right, went on and on and on about how much money his family had and how nice his house was and how he just got back from Italy- blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Pfft. Italy, big freaking whoop you had been there more times than you could count, and you really could not give less of a fuck about his money either. So trivial.

Ethan, or was it Evan, who cares honestly he was about to be dead, kept talking even though you had zoned out long ago. For the last few minutes while what’s his face rambled on you were thinking how exactly you wanted to end his life. Would you promise him sex if he walked out of the club with you only to die in the alley? Or would you use your illusion and kill him right here without anyone noticing? You could also ask him to show you his ‘sick new lambo’ and bleed him dry all over the white leather seats he was raving about. New ideas kept popping into your head, each one better than the last, but your train of thought came to a screeching halt when you caught his eyes.

He looked the same as he did every damn time. Long, slightly wavy chestnut brown hair, a soft yet strong jawline, plush soft lips, and gentle brown eyes lined with subtle dark circles underneath. No matter how many times you saw him he always seemed to steal the air from your lungs.

Once his eyes were set on you they didn’t move. It was like he was trying to piece together where he recognized you from although you knew he never would. Your eyes bore into his own taking you back to when you first met.

June 1713

Dover, England

Twenty years. It had only been twenty years since you were appointed Nympha Legatus which seems like a long time, but in the life of an immortal that’s nothing. Barely scratching the surface.

The first ten years were rough. You and Sarenya had lost every single fleshling each year, none of them returning to the sea. Some were killed in random accidents, and the others just never made it back. On the eleventh year the first fleshling from your pod survived, finally giving you both hope that maybe you could do this. Maybe everything would be okay. Each year after more and more survived until only one or two didn’t return. That in itself was a success.

Sarenya led the speech this year warning your sisters about pirates in the area, and human officers in the streets. Men were not so kind to women, especially pirates, and on land nymphs were at their most vulnerable, the Nympha Ducem deeming it illegal to use your abilities during the hunt in fear of causing suspicion amongst the humans. Deciding to hunt in a well populated port was dangerous, but it also offered a safety that desolate towns could not. More people meant you were less likely to be looked upon for being strangers, the sea was close by and there was safety in large crowds.

“Carpe Noctem.” Everyone spoke the phrase in unison just as they had for centuries before, beginning the hunt.

You wandered the streets for some time before finding a small pub to begin your night. Drunk men were always easy prey. But they were also unpredictable. A man who went by Billy had approached you shortly after entering the rickety establishment and offered his rum to you. The rum should have been the first indicator of who you were dealing with. The cutlass at his hip should’ve been the second.

Between sips of the dark liquor and hollow flirting you had ended up in a back alley with Billy trying to execute your plan for killing him. You had sorely underestimated how aware, sober and strong he was. When he caught on that you were not going to do him any sexual favors the cutlass at his hip had been drawn to your neck with his other forearm laid across your chest, pressing your back into the rough brick. You squeezed your eyes shut and waited for whatever Billy was about to do, but nothing happened.

The pressure against your chest lifted, and the cold metal of the blade at your throat was gone. When you opened your eyes Billy stood in front of you, his hands up in defense, shock and terror written all over his face, dagger pressed to his jugular.

“Drop the cutlass. Now.” A male voice spoke from behind him, commanding but smooth. Billy did as the disembodied voice said, the sword clattering loudly, the metal banging and scraping against gravel.

“Apologize to the lady.”

“I- I‘m sorry miss. Won’t ha- happen again.” Billy stuttered, his legs shaking and hands trembling in the air.

“Leave and don’t come back. If I see your face in Dover again I can’t promise I’ll be as kind a second time.”

The man behind your attacker lifted the blade off his throat, nicking the skin ever so slightly drawing the smallest amount of blood. Finally free, Billy bolted down the street not staying to try and fight. You swore you saw his brown trousers darken as he ran away, streams of piss flowing down his legs. Coward.

When the man straightened up from retrieving the cutlass off the ground you were able to see his face. His brown wavy hair was illuminated by moonlight, plush lips upturned at the corners into a gentle smile, and brown eyes twinkling in the silver beams from above. He was the most gorgeous human you had ever seen.

His smile dropped a fraction when you made no movement, continuing to stare at him with wide eyes. He took a step back thinking he must have frightened you even more and mentally cursed himself. Instead you took a step forward wanting to not be any further from him than you already were.

“It was not my intention to frighten you, my lady.” He hung his head in disappointment and shame, unable to meet your eyes again.

“You did not frighten me, sir. I am just in awe of your beauty.”

You wanted nothing more than to reach out for him. To touch him, and feel his smooth skin under your fingers. You kept your hands to yourself begrudgingly.

The man’s head snapped up so quickly it looked like it hurt. Brown eyes were back on your own, a pink tint flushed onto his cheeks.

“My beauty?” It was incredulous to him that a woman so fair, so breathtaking, was in awe of his beauty.

“Yes.” You took another step closer to him as you spoke.

“The most devine creature I have ever seen is calling me beautiful.”

Your entire body froze. Every muscle and ligament locked in place and rigid. Creature. Did he know what you were?

“Creature?” The word rolled off your tongue with disgust. A word you had always despised.

“Well you certainly can not be human and possess the features of a goddess.”

Just as your body had locked up in mere seconds, it relaxed hearing that what he had called you was a compliment. This was the first time you had actually liked the word creature. It was filled with endearment not disgust.

“What is your name?”

“Jacob.”

“Thank you for stepping in, Jacob. I can only imagine what could have occurred had you not. Would you allow me to buy you a pint as a show of my appreciation and gratitude?”

“Only if you’ll stay and enjoy one with me.” He beamed brighter than the moon overhead, eyes and smile wide.

“I shall join you then.”

The two of you walked down the cobblestone street back towards the small ale house you had come from with Billy. He had asked your name in which you told him earning yet another compliment.

“A name just as beautiful as the woman who bears it.”

You couldn’t describe what he was making you feel. There was never another time during your long life that you had ever felt so giddy and nervous around a human. Jacob was something special indeed.

Time was lost on you once the two of you entered the pub and sat to enjoy a drink. Various conversations about either of you followed naturally, careful to think about your answers. You were not like him after all and one wrong thing could raise questions.

“That’s a pretty blade.” You pointed to the dagger Jacob had set on the table, it had been the same one held to Billy’s neck. The weapon was fairly simple, a straight cross-guard that downturned slightly at the end and thinned out, the grip looked to be wrapped in leather leading to a round pommel with an atocha coin in the middle.

“Thank you, I actually made it. I’m a silversmith.”

Jacob was quite talented. Every piece of weaponry aside from Billy’s he had made himself. A few of the patrons in the tavern had also been carrying around his creations, all of them beautiful. He had taught himself how to fight with a sword, and how to play the guitar. He was the most intriguing human you had ever met.

And yet he would die that night by your hand.

Things had finally been going right for your pod in the last nine years, and you had almost thrown all of it down a trench because of some human. Wasting the night away talking to a human because he saved your life? Because he was a wonder to look at? No, that was not important. What was important was gathering the blood you needed and getting home. You had a mission.

At least that’s what you told yourself when you drained the blood from Jacob, unable to stop. What you had to remind yourself when you saw his body limp and lifeless at your hands. It was what played in a loop in your head any time you thought of how you would never see his beauty again, how you would never admire another human in that way again.

But you were wrong. Fate was cruel and twisted.

You finally tore your eyes away from his and turned back to whatever his name was. He will come just as he always did, but this time you will be prepared. Finally taking a breath from speaking, Erik allowed for a lull in the conversation giving the opportunity for you to suggest the two of you find somewhere more private. Of course he was more than happy to oblige. Naïve human.

Once Edwin was taken care of and you had your vile of blood, you cleaned the mess in the dirty alleyway as best as you could. The door you walked out of had been propped open from the cardboard box you wedged in the doorframe and you slipped back inside easily. Women filled the tiny bathroom, drunk and stumbling as you cleaned yourself up making sure there was no evidence left behind. Satisfied, you left the bathroom and made your way back to where you had been originally sitting.

You sat there for some time watching the humans dance, talk and laugh trying to keep your eyes off of him. A truly fruitless distraction, your eyes trained on his form unable to look away. A part of you knew that you had to cherish this before it was too late. Not knowing how much time would pass before you did see him again.

After what seemed like hours, although you’re sure it could’ve only been thirty minutes, he pushed off the table he was leaning against and made his way over to you. Trying to seem like you had not been staring at him all night, your eyes wandered elsewhere looking for anything remotely interesting. It wasn’t until he was basically right in front of you that you allowed your eyes to shift onto him. He stared down at you, the corners of his lips pulled into the smallest smile.

“Alright if I join you?” His hand was outstretched, palm facing upwards and motioning to the empty seat next to you.

“Not at all.” You smiled back at him and scooted over slightly on the small cushioned bench to make more room.

“I wasn’t going to come over here since you were with someone earlier, but it appears that he left.”

“Yeah,” You chuckled, “Honestly I’m glad I was able to ditch him. He was a bore. Had I known you’d come over sooner I would’ve gotten rid of him a long time ago.”

“Is that so?” His eyebrows raised, the smile on his face only growing in size. You hummed a short “Mmm,” your eyes meeting his for the first time since he sat down.

“I’m Jake by the way.”

Jake extended his hand out to you and you took it, shaking his hand with a firm, but still soft grip. Neither of you could keep your eyes off the other.

“Y/n.”

“Fitting. A name just as beautiful as the woman bearing it.” You could feel your heart skip before it sank. You knew he would say it, but that didn’t make the pain any easier. He dropped your hand and lifted his glass up to his lips taking a sip.

“Not much of a dancer I presume?”

April 1865

Boston, Massachusetts

People were everywhere. In the streets, in the bars, cheering, drinking, celebrating. The perfect time to begin the hunt.

After separating from the pod you found yourself observing the humans while they celebrated victory. The civil war had just ended and their side won. It was fascinating to watch them dance and sing and drink to their hearts desire without any care in the world.

So caught up in watching the humans, you hadn’t even noticed him in the crowd. But he had noticed you, of course he had. Not only were you the only person in all of Boston to not be celebrating in some way, but you were also stunning.

“Not much of a dancer I presume?”

The accent was much different, but the voice was the same. Your head snapped to where he was standing just left of you, shock wracking your entire body. How was it possible? He was dead. You had killed him over a hundred years ago.

“Um… Uh- n-no. Not really.” You stumbled through the shock that had taken hold of you, mind racing.

“I see… C’mon,” He held his hand out to you as an offering. When you didn’t take it he whispered, “If you don’t celebrate in some way they might think you’re a sympathizer. Take my hand.”

You did as he asked and slid your hand into his. He pulled you up from the stoop you were occupying and led you into the street with all the other humans. Musicians were playing loudly out in the open, the songs always fast and upbeat keeping everyone moving. He dropped your hand once comfortable with where you were standing and began a dance you had never seen before. When you didn’t move an inch he stopped.

“Do you not know how it goes?”

“No.” Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you shook your head.

“I’ll teach you. Follow my lead.”

“Okay…”

“Jacob. You can call me Jacob.”

Song after song, dance after dance, Jacob leads you into each one. He taught you all the steps, keeping patience the entire time which would not have been an easy thing to do. While you were no fleshling, you definitely looked like it was your first time on legs with how uncoordinated you were.

You talked as you danced the night away. Jacob was just as intriguing the second time you met him as he was the first. He was the same man you had met in 1713, but more modernized. Everything about him drew you in.

Eventually the music died, the streets cleared and it was just you and Jacob left out in the night. The two of you were sitting on the steps of his porch talking under the stars and enjoying each other's company. At some point you were no longer looking at the empty street or the starry night sky, but looking at one another instead. Jacob’s eyes traversed every part of your face like he was trying to memorize even the smallest details. After a few moments of this he sighed dreamily.

“May I kiss you?”

“You want to kiss me?”

“More than anything.”

“Then yes, Jacob, you may.”

You had kissed plenty of humans in your lifetime, none of them ever meaning anything significant. But when Jacob’s lips touched yours for the first time you had finally realized why humans liked to do this. Your entire body felt… alive. The feeling was the strangest, yet most blissful experience that you wished would never end. When he pulled away from you sadness ran through every fiber of your being, instantly missing the warmth of his soft lips.

You would never forget the way Jacob looked at you after the kiss. His eyes were soft, a gentle smile gracing his pretty face, every bit of him glowing with something other than the light from the moon. You would’ve done anything to see him like this for the rest of your life. To feel like he had just made you feel for eternity.

When the blissful haze cleared however, the longing vanished and panic quickly set in. What was he doing to you? This wasn’t right. You have a purpose and it is not to fall in love with a human. Get it together. Do your duty.

Every other thought bounced back and forth, your heart and brain fighting for dominance. Your heart told you to let him live, you didn’t need to kill him, but your brain knew better. You needed to do it or you would come back year after year just to see him. Risk the safety of you and the pod for a human you could never be with.

You had to kill him.

“Thank you for tonight Jacob.”

“The pleasure was all mine.”

He had insisted on walking you home to which you didn’t fight. If he walked you home you could lead him to a quiet place to take his life. Maybe even somewhere beautiful. Jacob deserved more than to just be drained and dumped in some filthy alley.

When he took you through the public garden you knew that was the place. So you led him down close to the pond underneath a willow tree, rays of light breaking through the wispy leaves that lay in drooping branches.

“Jacob?” You turned to him and gently grabbed both his hands.

“Hmm?”

“Kiss me again… Please?” There was the possibility that he would not come back like he had this time. A possibility that you would never feel his lips on yours again and you needed to experience it one last time.

“Okay.” It was soft and breathy, and had the night been any more lively you weren’t sure you would’ve heard it.

Jacob did as you asked, his lips pressed to yours like they had the first time. Tingles rolled through your body from head to toe crashing over you like waves. When you thought he would pull away and end the kiss he did something that surprised you. His tongue swept across your lower lip sending new vibrations along your spine, your body shivering slightly. Your own mouth acted without volition and opened against his lips.

The feeling of his tongue gliding along yours like velvet was euphoric. Noises bubbled from your throat in sighs of pleasure to be swallowed by Jacob. His hands gripped your waist, fingertips pressing into the meat with desperate longing. You liked the way his hands felt on you, almost as intoxicating as his mouth.

The kiss calmed and turned into short, slow kisses until your foreheads were resting against one another. You watched both of your chests rise and fall rapidly as you tried to regain your breath and slow your racing hearts. Neither of you said a word, just simply enjoying the moment.

Do it now. Get it over with, the longer you delay the worse it’ll be. Do it.

“May the flames of our souls dance together endlessly, Jacob.” You didn’t dare look at his face when you spoke your last words to him knowing you wouldn’t have it in you to do what needed to be done.

As your teeth sank into the delicate skin of his neck you prayed for it to be over quickly. Each desperate gasp of breath was a stab to your already fragile heart, and you were thankful you couldn’t see his face.

When he finally fell unconscious you filled the vile with his blood quickly before returning to finish what you started. Each pull of your mouth was a physical battle within yourself knowing that if you left now, before it was too late, he’d live. You could save him if you stopped. But that wasn’t an option anymore. You had to see it through.

You laid him down gently beneath the willow, teardrops dotting his skin, and cried harder at the sight of them. Had you been crying the whole time, you weren’t sure, but deep down you knew you had been. Brushing his hair from his face you looked at him one last time and pressed a shaky kiss to his forehead.

You had never run faster or sobbed harder in your life than you had that night.

“Something like that. I’m not one for this type of dancing or music if I’m honest.” You shrugged looking out at the people jumping and grinding to the music the DJ played.

“I’m not either, but my younger brothers wanted to check it out so I appeased them,” His eyes were trained on the crowd as he spoke, “I was starting to regret coming, and was just telling my brother I was going to leave.”

You peeled your eyes away from the people dancing on the floor and looked at Jake. He did the same, turning his focus back to you.

“Oh really? What made you change your mind?”

“Well I saw the most gorgeous woman looking like she’d rather be anywhere but here.” A cheeky smile formed on his lips. You’d forgotten how smooth he always was, your own lips breaking into a small smile.

“Would you wanna get out of here?”

“And go where?”

“I know a place.” Jake stood from his spot on the bench and set his drink on the table. When he turned to you he had his arm extended for you to take. His face gave a look of ‘what do you say?’

“Better be a good place.” You smiled and took his hand letting him lead you out of the noisy club. When the two of you stepped outside onto the street his hand dropped yours, the warmth he brought quickly dissipating. The action made you sad, wanting nothing more than to touch him again.

You weren’t sure where he was taking you, but you trusted him and let him lead you down the wet streets. The two of you talked, and just as you had expected he was the same as each time before just with slight differences. He was a musician now, self made of course, and in a band with his brothers. It was almost relieving to hear that there was finally a version of him in which he played music. You knew he was destined for this profession, his love and devotion for the art always remaining throughout the decades.

Eventually you came to the entrance of a park shrouded with hundreds of trees and flowers. He continued to walk down the pathway, a destination clear in mind. You couldn’t help but look in awe at the breathtaking scenery around you, all the trees and flowers, the moonlight bouncing off the large pond that sat in the middle of the park. You wondered what it might look like in the daytime.

Since you had left the club there had not been a moment of silence. Comfortable, casual conversation flowed easily between you, talking about anything and everything you could think of. Jake was well read in human history and literature, things you knew much about having lived through most of them. While you only came upon the shore for one night each year you liked to keep tabs on what was happening with the humans as it usually impacted the lives of the nymphs greatly. Especially as technology advanced.

The two of you came to a bench surrounded by large drooping trees that overlooked the pond, and your chest tightened. The scene before you looked strikingly similar to the public garden in Boston where you had taken Jake’s life almost two hundred years ago. Images of his lifeless state came flooding back to you, tears pricking your eyes. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, willing the tears back down. When you opened your eyes again and looked at the trees more closely you breathed a small sigh of relief. They were not willows, but instead oak trees covered in spanish moss that were still living. And they were hauntingly beautiful.

“I like to come here at night when I’m stuck on a melody or riff I can’t quite work out. There’s something about this place that’s so peaceful and reminiscent. Which sounds ridiculous since I don't even know what I could possibly reminisce about in a place like this.” He sat on the bench and looked out over the water as he spoke, like he truly was thinking back to something. You tried to deny that maybe in some way he remembered that night in Boston as you sat beside him. It was easier to lie to yourself than accept that old pieces of his lives that involved you lingered.

The night had grown somewhat cold and a chill ran through your body as wind swept through the trees. Jake noticed the way your arms wrapped tightly around your body and wordlessly took off his light jacket, placing it around your shoulders.

“Thank you, but you didn’t-“

“I wanted to.”

The skin of your cheeks burned, heat creeping along your face and down your neck. You were thankful for the thickly coated trees overhead as they blocked out most of the moonlight and hid your growing blush. With the wind dying, you could smell his natural musk that wafted from the jacket, woodsy and clean like driftwood that sat on the beach. The smell flooded your senses, reminding you of the last time you had seen him.

September 1923

Charleston, South Carolina

Prohibition made hunting harder. Without the effect of alcohol humans tended not to hang around in large groups and were more difficult to subdue, but thankfully speakeasies existed. Sure finding a human who knew where one was could be a challenge, but once you did find one who could point you in the right direction they would do so of their own free will.

Bourbon and Branch was where you had found yourself this night for the hunt. The darkly lit underground club was congested with smoke from cigarettes and cigars, the sound of jazz filled the space. There couldn't have been a better place to prey on humans and you certainly took advantage of it, your body count for the evening rising higher and higher. Were you out of control? No, not yet, but hey it was the roaring twenties, everyone was on the verge of losing what little grip they had on self control. It didn’t help that you had been nursing your self loathing and pain since 1865.

Every waking moment that fateful night played on a loop in your mind. Over and over. You would do anything to get through the day without thinking about him, and human blood helped take your mind off of everything. The more you drank, the better you felt, the less you thought of him, but the more you drank, the more you pushed yourself further to the edge. You were quickly becoming a liability to the pod with each hunt that took place. It’s not that you didn’t care that you were endangering the pod, you just couldn’t see past your own misery to realize that what you were doing was dangerous.

You had lost track of just how many bodies you had left in the alley behind the speakeasy that night. It was nearing double digits, but you didn’t care and instead headed back inside the small club to find your next meal. When you slipped back inside though the image of the next human you had intended on targeting vanished instantly.

Sitting in a booth with a drink in hand looking at home was the man who haunted you. His eyes seemed to be scanning the room, like he was looking for something in particular when they landed on you. You didn’t dare take your eyes off of him, fearing that maybe the blood had gotten to your head. You watched as he said something to one of the men who sat by his side, identical to him in some ways, before sliding out of the booth and walking towards you. Not once did his eyes leave yours.

It felt like catching up with an old friend in some weird way. You know the person down to their core, but aspects of their life have changed, and small parts of them have too. Most of the night was spent in the Bourbon and Branch just talking with Jacob and getting to know what he was like in this life. There were plenty of smiles, laughs and flirting, and you were floating on air. And when he kissed you that night it was as if no time had passed, like you were back in 1865 sitting on his porch steps under the stars.

When the bar had finally closed for the night, neither of you could bring yourselves to say goodbye. Jacob invited you back to his house with his brothers and their partners as a proper way to wind down after a night out. More secret booze and music. The lot of you danced and drank for what seemed like hours before everyone either left or went to bed leaving you and Jacob out to enjoy the night alone. The two of you talked and talked until talking led to gentle touches, those touches turned to kissing, and the kissing led to something you had never done.

While painful at first, the feeling that came after was truly unlike anything you had ever experienced. Nothing would compare to the overwhelming euphoria you and Jacob had shared that night. Images of him above you, bare and glistening with sweat while his light brown eyes bore into your own were seared in your brain. The scent of driftwood and sea salt was all around you, enveloping you wholly. His whispers of praise, encouragement, and adoration echoed forever in your head. How beautiful you were and how good you felt. How utterly perfect you were. If you thought you liked the way his hands felt on you once long ago, you loved how they felt on you tonight. You loved the pleasure he could bring you with just a drag of his finger, and how gentle he was. So gentle like he was afraid he would break you. When you reached your peak you felt nothing but pure pleasure, every thought and memory erased from your mind that wasn’t him. He invaded every part of your being.

Afterwards the two of you laid in his bed, bare and pressed against one another. No words were spoken, but none needed to be. You were both content to exist in the moment listening to each breath the other took while his fingers traced mindless shapes and paths across your skin. The only noise that could be heard was Jacob humming softly, a tune that had no real body like it was something he made up as it came to him.

When he finally fell asleep you slipped out from underneath his arm carefully to not wake him and redressed. You had decided you would not repeat history this time. You wouldn’t be the cause of his death, you couldn’t do it again. You knew had you taken his life a third time you would come apart at the seams completely. While you were unsure if he would ever come back to you since you had let him live, it was a chance you were willing to take. For one last time you admired him in the faint glow of the candles by his bed, and this time as you looked upon him you didn’t have to tell yourself he was sleeping.

“May the flames of our souls dance together endlessly, my love.” Your hand caressed his cheek and you bent down to place a gentle kiss to his forehead before you made your exit. You had barely made it to the ocean when the sun rose that morning, your first true close call. To you though it was well worth it.

“So you’re in a band? Do you enjoy it?” You pulled his jacket tighter around your frame hoping to trap in more heat and cocoon yourself in his smell.

“I love it. It’s been my dream for so long to be a musician and I don’t think I would trade anything in the world for it.” When he spoke you could feel the excitement pour off of him. He truly loved what he was doing and that made you happy- knowing that he was happy.

“I’m sure it's not easy though being in a band with your brothers.”

“Everyone thinks that, but it’s not always difficult. Sure tempers fly, and things get smashed or broken, but nothing will ever come between us that we can’t overcome. We’re family, we’ll always have each other’s backs.”

You could understand where he was coming from. Your pod was your family, each member was a sister to you biological or not, and the hunt was your job. Things get dicey every now and then, but for the most part you just tried to do what was best for your family and looked out for one another.

Another hour had passed just sitting under the trees talking about everything and nothing at all. It had taken all the strength you had to not shiver uncontrollably from head to toe till now, Jake’s jacket not doing much anymore. You were positively freezing. The cold finally won, and violent shakes wracked your body.

“I have this beautiful hand-made dagger from the 1700s, absolutely exquis-“ His sentence stopped abruptly on the count of way your body jolted continuously and he began to rub his hands up and down the length of your biceps, “C’mon let’s get you somewhere warm, you’re shaking like a leaf.”

Jake stood from the bench, his hands falling away from your arms for a moment to help you stand. When the two of you began to walk he was next to you, his arm wrapped around the back of your body so both of his hands were back on your upper arms. The friction from his hands did heat your body slightly, but not enough to subdue the intense shivering.

“My place isn’t far from here, is that alright?” When you turned to answer him you came practically nose to nose with him. He was so close that the only thing you could see in front of you were his honey brown irises.

“Um, yeah that’s fine. How far away are we?”

“About seven minutes, think you’ll make it that far?” The smallest hint of a smile drew the corner of his mouth upwards, his top lip curling the tiniest bit.

While you didn’t spend most of your time around humans you knew when one was making a joke. Or in this case, poking fun at you. Instead of finding it offensive the jest was rather endearing. Nonetheless you rolled your eyes playfully.

“Yes I can make it that far.” You finally willed yourself to look away from his mesmerizing face and stare out ahead of you. A part of you feared that if you didn’t look away now, you never would.

Shortly after leaving the park you had stopped shivering and Jake’s hands stopped their vigorous movements on your arms to rest at his sides. It seemed silly, but you mourned his touch as soon as it left your body and you decided to ask him about the dagger from earlier to distract yourself.

“You were telling me earlier about a dagger that you have?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot I was nerding out a little.” A breathy laugh escaped from between his lips. It was more of a huff of air than an actual laugh. His focus was on his boots as he walked beside you on the concrete sidewalk.

“Tell me about it? I would love to know more.”

“Yeah, uh,” He looked up to you with an expression that looked something similar to disbelief mixed with excitement. “It’s a beautiful handcrafted dagger from the early 18th century I believe. It’s a family heirloom, been passed down to the Kiszka men when they turn twenty-five. That’s how old my ancestor was when he made it.”

His hands waved about and fidgeted as he spoke like it was something he did out of nervous habit, but you think he just liked to keep his hands busy. You knew exactly which blade he had been referring to, there was no doubt in your mind. The weapon had to be the same blade used to strike fear into the heart of Billy back in Dover, England. The same blade which you complimented later on in the night.

“This is me.” Jake stopped in front of a large house, very modern and elegant looking, but simple, and dug his keys out from the depths of his pockets. While he fidgeted with the keys you took the opportunity to slide the vial of blood you had collected from earlied out of your pocket and drop it gently in one of his bushes by door to grab in the morning.

He opened the door and walked inside, holding the door open for you to follow behind him. As soon as you stepped through the threshold of his home, warmth flooded over your entire body.

Jake’s home on the inside reflected the outside, modern and sleek, but it still had a cozy and comfortable element to it. In a way it somewhat reminded you of his home in the 1920’s.

You followed him deeper into the house through a hallway that led into a living room and kitchen. The areas were separated by a black granite bar top that had bar stools lined along the wall facing into the kitchen. Jake walked around the bar into the kitchen and you decided to stay on the other side, standing next to a stool. He looked at you from the other side, his hands on top of the black surface and his upper body leaning towards you.

“Would you like anything to drink? Water, tea, booze?”

“Hmm, tea sounds quite nice. Would you by any chance happen to have any peppermint tea?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He smiled at you fondly before turning around and walking to a cabinet on the wall behind him. He opened the cabinet and pulled two mugs off the shelf before closing it and opening another one to rummage through it. When he found the proper tea he filled the kettle up with water and set it on the stove to bring to a boil.

“You can sit, you know, make yourself comfortable.” He was facing you now, back pressed against the island in the center of the kitchen, his hands resting on the countertop behind him and his legs cross at the ankle. You knew with the tone of his voice and the soft smile on his face that he was just trying to make you feel more welcome.

“Thank you, although I’m content standing for now.” You smiled back at him gently with your upper body leaned into the cool black stone. Jake only offered an amused hum in response, continuing to stare at you with fond eyes.

“What?”

“Nothing… You’re just so beautiful,” His focus shifted to the ground and he shook his head, a giddy smile still splayed across his lips. “When I saw you at the club tonight I almost couldn’t muster up the courage to speak to you, and now you’re in my house and I’m making tea for you, and…” He looked up from the ground and met your eyes again. “You’re just so beautiful.”

You pushed off of the counter and made your way into the kitchen where he was standing. Neither of you looked away from the other the closer you got.

“I think,” You stopped in front of him and lightly draped your arms around his shoulders. His hands lifted from the countertop behind him and rested on your hips. “That you are quite beautiful.”

He was quiet for a moment, your compliment stunning him. He continued to stare at you in wonder and your eyes stayed locked on his.

“Me? Beautiful?”

“Breathtaking.”

His hand left your waist, his palm coming to rest on your jaw with his thumb splayed across your cheek, and his fingers laid against your neck just under your ear.

“C’mere.”

Jake pulled you closer to him, his fingers curling gently around the back of your neck, his lips pressing to yours. Just like each time before your skin felt tingly, spreading from your head all the way down your toes. You could feel his lips still curled upwards into the smile he was wearing as he kissed you. After a beat or two he pulled away from you.

The second his lips lifted from your own you felt the immediate longing of wanting to feel their warmth and softness again. It felt like sand slipping through your fingers.

However, his mouth was back on yours continuously pressing quick, tender kisses upon your lips over and over. With each time he pulled away, the amount of time between the kisses grew shorter like he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from you entirely. Not only did they become shorter, but they quickly became more heated and needy. Jake’s tongue ran the length of your bottom lip and you welcomed it happily, parting your lips with a low hum. You didn’t fight him for dominance and instead let his tongue explore your mouth as he pleased. The tip of his tongue teased the roof of your mouth slowly from the back to the front before he met your lips again and his tongue brushed against your own.

He walked forward a few steps and used the hand placed on your hip to turn the two of you in an one-eighty, and then walked you backwards. Your back pressed into the edge of the island countertop, Jake’s chest and hips pressed flush against your own, his hand moving to tangle into the soft tresses of your hair. Everything he did was gentle, careful not to push too far. Even with his body pressed into yours there was no overwhelming force.

Your hands wound into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you and earning a groan from Jake in return. He grabbed both your hips in his hands and grinded his growing erection into your core. You couldn’t help the way your head lulled back, breaking the kiss. Taking advantage of your exposed neck, he trailed kisses down the column of the soft skin. His mouth worked slowly, dragging out each open mouthed, hot kiss with his tongue licking over the area before moving to place the next one.

“Jake.” His name rolled off your tongue in a whisper, broken and whiny. You hadn’t meant to say his name out loud, but the reaction you pulled from him was worth it. The tips of his fingers dug into your hips harder and vibrations rumbled from his mouth through your neck with the low moan he released.

“Sounds so pretty when you say it like that, darling.” His teeth scraped across your skin with the next kiss just barely applying any pressure.

“Fuck, Jake.”

His teeth grazed the delicate skin once again, adding in another roll of his hips into yours. He was much harder now and the friction he supplied was making your head dizzy. You wanted more of him, so much more of him. In the background you could hear the kettle whistle loudly on the stove signifying it was ready.

“Water’s ready for tea.” Jake’s voice was low and husky while still moving his mouth down your throat.

“Forget the tea. I need you, please.” Your hand traveled between your bodies to palm his clothed length. His lips finally ceased their assault, his forehead resting on your clavicle with a sharp breath pulled into his lungs.

“Oh darling,” He lifted his head from your chest to look into your eyes. There was a fire in his eyes this time that you had never seen before, dark and swirling beneath the surface. “Have me you shall.”

He stepped away from you and grabbed your hand, pulling you behind him. He walked over to the stove quickly turning off the burner and setting the kettle aside. Once the fire hazard was taken care of he pulled you into him again and reconnected your lips. You were walking backwards, unsure of where exactly he was directing the two of you, but you couldn’t care less. Your fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt popping them open one by one. In return, Jake was working to unbutton your pants. When the last button was undone on his shirt you pushed the light material away from his shoulders and let your hands roam his warm skin. He was solid under your hands, yet still delicate. You loved the way his chest and stomach felt, obsessed with how sturdy and soft he was at the same time.

He moved on to your shirt once the button on your pants was undone and the zipper had been pulled down. You could feel the material slipping lower on your hips ever so slightly with each step you took. Jake pulled your shirt up over your head by the hem and dropped it to the floor, and you took one more step backwards before your back hit what you assumed was a door. His hand flew out and twisted the knob opening the door. He continued to walk you backwards into his room until the back of your knees came into contact with his bed.

You let out a shocked gasp, your knees buckling underneath you and falling rather ungracefully onto the bed while pulling Jake with you. He was able to stop himself from crushing you fully, his arms on either side of your head. When the initial surprise subsided the two of you broke into a fit of giggles unable to contain them.

“Sorry, I should’ve stopped.” He pushed himself up from the bed to stand still chuckling slightly.

“It’s okay.” One last giggle escaped from your lips as he made to stand. He was wedged between your legs while he looked down at you.

The look in his eyes from before had returned, quickly stirring the heat in your core again. While you were still wearing your bottoms, the top you had been wearing was long gone revealing your bare chest to him for the first time. He leaned forward and placed his hands on both sides of your hips. His fingers gripped the tops of the waistbands on your pants and underwear.

“Can I?” There was a gruff tone to his voice now when he spoke.

“Please.”

Jake didn’t waste anymore time and tugged the clothing from your body. There was no rush, taking his time undressing your lower half, and you propped yourself up on your elbows to have a better view of him. He dropped your bottoms to the ground and stood up straight to have a better view of your naked body.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone more stunning.” His eyes trailed along your body, drinking in every inch. You sat up fully, your face level with his toned abdomen and your hands toying with the waistband of his trousers.

“I have.”

The sight of you below him made his dick twitch. You were looking up at him almost innocently with your hands and mouth mere inches away from his aching cock. The very thought of having your mouth so close to him made him almost cum right there.

You started to undo the button and fly on his pants while placing sweet kisses to his stomach just above his navel, never breaking eye contact. Once the button was taken care of and you moved onto the zipper you trailed the light kisses lower and lower until your bottom lip brushed the top of his underwear. You drew your lips from the heated skin of his torso and hooked your fingers into his pants like he had just done to you.

“May I?” You were still so close to him that your breath fanned over his skin and sent shivers through his body.

“Oh god, yes.” The words were filled with air and flew out in a hushed whisper.

You pulled the fabric down his legs taking the boxers down with his pants. His hardened length sprang free, the tip slapping his lower belly gently. You were mesmerized with how gorgeous every part of him was, and while it had been over a hundred years since you had seen him bare, he was the same as before. When you got the top of his pants past his sturdy thighs they dropped freely the rest of the way down his legs.

Jake stepped out of the trousers carefully before bending down to cup your cheek and bring his lips back to yours. He laid you back slowly as he kissed you, kneeling on the bed with one knee between your legs. His other hand rested on your hip and pressed into you guiding you to move further up the bed.

Satisfied with where you were, Jake laid into you more fully. His forearm was braced into the mattress next to your head, his chest brushing yours with each heaving breath, and his heavy cock nestled in the crevice where your thigh met your groin.

His fingers skirted from your hip down the outside of your thigh just barely touching the heated skin. With the same pressure his hand crossed over the top of your thigh and slowly inched its way up to your core. Every touch his fingers made on your skin left behind a trail of raised skin in their wake. A breathy moan was pulled from your lips as he ran his middle and index fingers up your slit slowly.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” Jake groaned against your lips.

Your hips bucked into his hand involuntarily as his fingers swept over your clit for the first time. You writhed under his touch earning a smile from his lips that you could feel against your own before he began kissing his way down your neck towards your chest. Even as he moved down your body you could still feel the smile he wore. His fingers swirled your clit in tight, slow, figure eights while his tongue gave an experimental flick to your perked nipple. Your back arched from the bed, pushing your chest into him silently begging for more. He loved how responsive you were, and you could tell. Each time you reacted to his touches, you felt his hard length twitch and pulse against your hip.

His lips wrapped around your nipple fully, sucking and licking the bud, earning the sweetest sounds from your open mouth. Not once did his fingers stop moving against your clit and you were quickly being brought to the edge of ecstasy. He pulled his mouth from your breast with a soft pop and kissed lower down your belly. A soft giggle bubbled in your throat as his lips passed over a sensitive area of your stomach, his lips tickling you. He huffed a laugh at the way your muscles contracted and you squirmed under his touch only making the tickling sensation worse.

“Sorry.” He laughed with you, his eyes catching yours.

“S’okay.”

You reach a hand down into his hair encouraging him to continue where he left off. Jake did as you implied and kissed further down your abdomen to your core, looping his arms around your hips and thighs. He kept eye contact as he placed one last kiss to your center right on your clit. When his tongue licked a stripe through your folds his eyes fluttered shut. He hummed against your soaked heat, the vibrations flowing through your entire body. Your fingers wound tighter into his hair and your hips begged for him to be closer.

He slid his tongue back up your slit, collecting your arousal and wrapped his lips around your clit once at the top. He sucked the sensitive bundle into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it rapidly. Your entire body felt like it was on fire and your head was becoming more fuzzy with each roll of the wet, velvet muscle. Whines and moans of pleasure rolled out from your throat, his name mixed in along with them sweetly. Just when you were about to be sent over the edge you pulled his mouth from your core and back up to your own. His chest and torso were pressed to yours, now propped up on his knees between your spread legs.

You could taste yourself on his lips and tongue. Sweet with a hint of saltiness. Like watermelon lightly sprinkled with salt on a summer’s day. You wanted more.

“Jake, please,” You whispered against his lips between feverish kisses trying desperately to get the words out. “I need you. I need all of you. Please, please.”

“Say it again.” His hand pressed down between your sticky bodies, gripping his length.

“I need all of you.”

“Say my name again.” He ran his swollen head through your wet lips, and coated himself in your slick.

“Please Jake.” He pressed into you slowly, the tip just inside as you spoke his name causing it to hitch in your throat. Your walls fluttered around him trying desperately to adjust to his size while he continued to push the rest of the way inside you. Your arms wrapped around the underside of his arms holding him close to you with your hands resting on the tops of his shoulders. The sound of his heavy breaths cascaded into your ear, his head dropped with his chin resting on your shoulder between your cheek and his hand.

“Oh fuck, you’re so tight.” He took a few ragged breaths. “Are you alright if I move?”

“Yeah, I-I’m okay.” Your voice cracked in a whisper already sounding fucked out.

Jake withdrew his hips from yours slowly, his thick length gliding out easily until just the tip of his head remained inside at your entrance. He pushed back in faster than before, but still at a steady pace. His other hand that was placed next to your head shifted so that he was cradling your head in his hand and gently pushing your opposite cheek into his.

With each push and pull of his hips to yours, both of your breathing became heavier, filled with moans and whispers of praise. He brushed your cervix upon every re-entry and grazed a spot that made your entire body explode in pleasure.

There was no doubt how good he was making you feel, and while you knew you were making him feel the same pleasures, you wanted to physically be responsible.

“Jake.” You tapped his shoulder lightly to get his attention. He quickly stopped all movement and lifted his face, looking at you with worry etched onto his features.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

Your heart practically melted at his sincerity, and you couldn’t help but smile up at him. Worry changed to confusion at the sight of you smiling.

“Yes, I’m okay. I just, um,” You weren’t sure how to tell him exactly what you wanted. Mainly because you didn’t know what exactly it was that you wanted. “I want to… You’re just making me feel so good, and I… I want to make you feel good.”

“Baby,” A breathy chuckle left his lips, and his head fell, shaking lightly, “You’re already making me feel good. So unbelievably good.” He looked back up at you, the corner of his mouth pulled upwards showing off the smallest portion of his top teeth.

“I just want to… actively make you feel good.” You tried to reiterate to him what you meant.

“Are you trying to tell me that you want to be on top?”

You nodded your head slowly and watched the adoring smile on his face grow. Without much warning, his arm hooked around the back of your knee securing it closer to his body as he started to roll onto his back. He was seated fully inside you as he changed your positions, making you feel much more full once you were sat on him completely.

You wiggled your arms out from under his shoulders and sat up using his chest to stabilize yourself. He looked even more gorgeous below you than above with his skin shiny from sweat and his hair falling in waves around where his head rested. You stared at him for a moment longer taking in the way he looked and feeling how firm his chest and tummy felt.

You also weren’t sure what you were supposed to do, so you were sort of stalling.

“I, um, I’ve never really done this before…” Your gaze fell to watch your fingers dance along his tanned, smooth skin.

Jake didn’t respond. Instead his hands found your waist and gave you a reassuring squeeze making you look back to his face.

“I’ll show you.”

His hands lifted your hips ever so slightly before angling them forward gently. He continued to guide you upwards at this angle until you reached the end of his length. Just before he slipped out completely, you rolled your hips backwards again with the guidance of his hands and took him down to his base. He repeated the motion a few times to help you get a feel for it, each time speeding up just a little.

“If something feels good, follow it. Don’t think too much about what you want to do. Just let your body be the guide.” Not once did his hands stop guiding you while he spoke.

You started to take more control by lifting your hips on your own and changing the angle to take him down deeper. His hands stayed on your hips with his fingers extending to your ass. The more comfortable you got, the more you rolled your hips and sped up causing Jake’s fingertips to dig into the meat of your backside.

“That’s it. Doing so good.”

You did what he told you and just let your body do what it wanted to naturally. Carefully, you leaned back placing your hands on the outsides of his shins and kept moving your hips forward. With the new angle you could feel a searing hot tightness form in your lower belly with each thrust. You could see his cock, glistening in your juices, disappear in and out of you which only spurred you on more. You looked up to Jake to see him watching you slide along his length, his lips parted and his chest heaving. He caught your eyes and his hands traveled up your back.

“C’mere.”

He pulled you back to him, his lips crashing into yours and his hips bucking up into you. A loud moan ripped from your throat and was sent straight into his mouth. You could do nothing for a moment, but lay on top of him and let his hips do all the work, his thrusts disabling your mind and body. When you did finally push back onto him, his breath hitched before a deep groan tore from his chest and his hands gripped you harder. It took you a few tries to find the right rhythm, but after a few moments his hips were thrusting up to meet your own on their descent. Curses and praises tumbled freely from him, air filled and raspy. The movements were perfectly timed and you could feel yourself on the edge of the cliff once again. His kisses became sloppy, filled mostly with grunts and breathy moans against your lips.

“I’m close. A-are you, shit, are you almost there?” He sighed, his breath fanning over your face.

“Yeah, I’m- I’m about to- Oh fuck, Jake.” Your orgasm hit you before you could even finish your sentence. Intense pleasure ignited every inch of your body as your muscles contracted, squeezing his cock like a vice. His name slipped off your tongue over and over as he helped you ride out the high while chasing his own.

It was his name falling from your lips continuously like a mantra while you came that had him reaching his own climax. Soft whimpers, moans and gasps spilling from his lips and swirled around your head. He pulled you into his chest further, hugging you tight to his chest and kissed you harder until his hips slowed to a stop inside you.

Neither of you made to move for a few minutes, both of you entirely spent. Your entire body weight was being supported by him as you laid on top of his chest and stomach trying to come down. Jake was the first to move. He helped you up and gently guided you to lay on your back before making his way off the bed with a promise to return. When he came back he was holding a wet cloth and a glass of water. He cleaned your mixed release up from between your legs tenderly, and then disposed of the cloth in his dirty laundry basket. You gulped down the water while you waited for him to return again. A few moments later he came back and crawled back into his bed laying next to you. As soon as Jake laid down you started to get out of his bed to leave for the night needing to return back to the sea.

“Hey, you don’t have to go. You can stay- If you want to, I mean-” He fumbled over his words trying to get across what he wanted to say properly. You couldn’t get over how cute he looked, his cheeks getting pink from being flustered. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I would like for you to stay.”

“I can stay for a little bit longer.”

You smiled at him softly and eased back into the bed beside him. He pulled you closer to him and wrapped his arm around your shoulder. You rested your head on his chest, his skin warming your cheek, and laid your arm across his stomach. The two of you stayed wrapped up in each other’s arms until you drifted off to sleep, the slow rise and fall of his chest soothing you. Just before sleep took you under you heard him mutter something in his sleepy haze.

“I’ve waited for you.” You could barely register what he said, already half asleep and in a dreamy haze yourself.

A faint yellow glow woke you from your dreamless sleep. Sunlight beamed into your eyes when you finally got up the courage to pry them open, and your heart sank to your stomach. It was daytime and you hadn’t made it back to the ocean. You frantically threw the covers off of your still naked body, jolting Jake awake in the process. You began searching all around the room for your clothes having no luck in locating a single item of clothing. Jake’s hand around your wrist finally stopped you. You hadn’t realized that he had been talking to you the entire time.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” His eyes searched your face, his soft voice trying to calm you down while his thumb rubbed circles on your wrist.

“I can’t find any of my clothes, and I have to leave. I can’t believe I missed sunrise, I-” You stopped talking immediately, the words dying in your throat. You had missed sunrise, by hours, and yet you were still alive. How the hell were you still alive?

You felt disoriented and nauseous, the edges of your vision blurring and your hearing starting to muffle. The pounding of your heartbeat thundered in your ears completely blocked out whatever Jake had said to you. Your mind raced trying to make sense of what was happening. There was only one possibility that could explain it.

“It was all a lie…” You muttered to yourself still in shock, forgetting that Jake was still there.

“What was a lie?”

“Um,” You shook your head, trying desperately to clear the fog from your mind. When you shifted your focus back onto his face, you instantly felt at ease. The nausea subsided, and your hearing came back in full. The black edges around your vision faded away allowing you to focus on his face, seeing clearly the lines of worry between his furrowed brows.

“Nothing. I- I think I was having a bad dream… I’m okay now.”

“Are you sure? You had me stressed out there for a second.” His thumb was still rubbing against your skin in soothing motions.

“Yeah, I’m good now.” You gave him a reassuring smile and tried your best to make him believe it.

It was the truth though. You felt better and it was because of him. With just a look of his face you knew this was your destiny all along. For centuries you pondered over why the universe had always brought him back to you, and now you knew. You were always meant to be with Jake.

“Okay, good… So you don’t have any plans for today?”

“No, I have nothing planned.” He smiled at you then, and you had never felt better in your entire life.

“Would you wanna grab some breakfast then? I’d like to spend more time with you.”

“I would absolutely love that.”

———————————————————————

Your bare feet sunk into the warm, white sand with each step you took along the beach. Carrying your shoes in one hand and the other intertwined with Jake’s you looked out to the open water of the sea. The sun was setting over the water creating beautiful orange glitters across the top of the small waves. While the blinding light burned your eyes you couldn’t turn away. Sunset was your favorite time of day and the scenic view of your old home had you somewhat reminiscent.

Roughly eight months had passed since the night of the hunt. In that time you’ve been adjusting to living life as a human which was quite different than living as a nymph. The biggest adjustment was probably the loss of your powers. Or getting a job, that was pretty difficult. Throughout the whole process Jake was there though. The two of you had started dating and eventually you had to come clean about your true nature, especially when you didn’t understand the simple things that came with human life. Cell phones, bills, cars, rent, social media. It was all very foreign to you and Jake never understood.

When you did finally tell him about being a nymph and coming from the sea he truly didn’t believe you. He thought you had made the whole thing up which you understood. After a while and some very confusing conversations about the aforementioned topics, he finally believed that you were not originally human. The most convincing aspect for him were your eyes. You were able to hide them for a few months before your powers faded completely, but when your abilities were gone he finally was able to see your glittery silver irises. Now though, your eyes too have since faded and changed color allowing you to look fully human.

He asked a lot of questions, all of which you welcomed and answered freely. You decided to omit the whole truth from him when it came to your previous meetings in his previous lives. How were you supposed to admit to the man you love that you had killed him not once, but twice centuries ago? He knew your paths had crossed before and in a few instances the two of you had become close in a sense, but you mostly told him how and where you met unless he asked for specific details. When he learned that the two of you had had sex before in the 1920s his only response was, ‘I was better this time.’ Mostly he would ask which version of him you liked better.

As you continued to look out at the sea you thought of Sarenya and your sisters. You wondered who would’ve taken your place as Nympha Legatus and where they would be this time around. Ciree would make a great siren leader if she could focus on-

“You’re doing it again.” Your thoughts faded away as Jake spoke beside you, squeezing your hand gently. Instantly you knew what he was referring to, you gazed down at your feet that we’re almost touching the water now. Every time the two of you walked along the beach you would absentmindedly walk towards the water until the salty liquid lapped at your toes or Jake made you aware. Usually he would say nothing and just watch in amusement while you led him closer.

“Sorry.” You laughed under your breath and turned to face him. He was smiling warmly at you, his honey brown eyes sparkling in the orange hue of the sun.

“Nothing to be sorry about…” You both started walking down the shore again still hand in hand letting comfortable silence take over. Your thoughts continued to wander, thinking about what life would be like for your pod now.

“Do you miss it? Your old life and your sisters?”

This was the first time he had asked you if you missed any part of what you used to be. You were sure he never asked because he didn’t want to make you upset. While it didn’t make you upset, you did think about it for a moment before responding.

“Sometimes... I miss Sarenya mostly. I mean she was my best friend and sister and she probably thinks I’m dead, so it makes me sad to think she’s grieving me and that I probably won’t see her again.” He nodded in response, showing that he could understand what you meant, your arms swaying between your bodies while you walked.

“But I’m happy here. I think this was always supposed to be my destiny… to be human and be with you. Live our lives with one another and grow old together. Even if I could go back somehow I wouldn’t because this feels right. This is right, and I don’t ever want to not be with you. I’d rather have this lifetime and the afterlife with you and remain human than have only fleeting moments together and be a nymph.”

He was beaming at you now with a smile that could only be described as soft, warm and giddy. The amount of love in his eyes as he looked at you was unmistakable and you were happily drowning in it, letting it lay like a heavy blanket over your entire body. Jake used the hold he had on your hand to swing you forward in front of him and maneuver your body to where he twirled you around a few times before bringing you into his chest tightly and pressed his lips to yours sweetly. He shifted his weight from foot to foot creating a small swaying motion as he held and kissed you.

“May the flames of our souls dance endlessly together, my love.” He repeated the phrase you had spoken to him years and years ago against your lips, smiling the whole way through it against your own smiling lips.

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theogcinnamonroll · 3 months

Text

I have a problem (Yet again, more incorrect quotes)

Tia: Know why I called you in here? Soap: Because I accidentally sent you a dick pic. Tia: Stops pouring two glasses of wine. Accidentally?

Soap: I have feelings for you. Tia: Why? What's wrong with you? Are you sure you're okay?

Soap: When you said 'Magic in Bed', I wasn't expecting this… Tia: pulls out card from deck Now, was this your card? Soap: Holy moly-

Tia: How do I tell Soap that I want them to yell at me like they're Gordon Ramsay and I'm a poor little chef who just ruined a crème brûlée?

Gaz: There. How do I look? Leo: Like a cheap French harlot. Gaz: French?!

Leo: Do you know a turtles only weakness? Price: No… well, their slowness. Leo: Their weaknesss is they can't roll over when they are on their backs. Leo: Now I have a plan. Leo: If I duct tape two turtles together, they'll be unstoppable.

Soap, cowering in fear: What do you want from me?! Ghost, standing in front of Soap: bites into the whole KitKat bar like a heathen Soap, crying: Please…stop…

Ghost: Are you alright with constructive criticism? I don't want to sound mean. Soap: No, go ahead. I want to hear it. Ghost: It sucks. Soap: That's not constructive criticism.

Ghost: Are you tall enough to play basketball though? Tia: Are you calling me short? Ghost: I'm calling you vertically challenged.

Leo: This bloodline ends with me. Soap: That's the fanciest way I've ever heard someone say "I'm gay".

Leo: You know my motto: carpe diem, carpe noctem, carpe coles. Price: Seize the day, seize the night, what’s the last one? Leo: Seize the dick.

Tia: What have I done wrong?! Leo: Everything. For your entire life.

Leo: Bro, I had a dream we fucked. Gaz: Bro, relax it was just a dream. Leo: Huh, gay, I wouldn’t fuck you. Gaz: You wouldn’t? Leo: I mean, unless you want to-

Gaz: Look, last night was a mistake. Leo: A sexy mistake. Gaz: No, just a regular mistake.

Tia: Wow, Soap, you want to hold my hand before marriage? How awfully lewd of you. Soap: We literally slept together yesterday. Tia: That's NOTHING compared to the lewdness of holding hands.

Ghost: Hey Tia, have you seen the photographer? Tia: Nope. Have you seen the meat tenderizer? Ghost, confused: What? Tia, grabbing the meat tenderizer out of the drawer: No reason, cute girl things!

Soap: Valentine’s day is just a consumerist holiday that holds no real value other than drive people insane buying heart shaped chocolates for their significant others and pos- Tia: I wrote you a poem. Soap, already crying: You did?

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three-red-horns · 10 months

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Why three-red-horns or 3RH?

Carpe diem (or noctem). Seize the moment. "Seize what you can." Very much relatable, hence I write to my heart and to my dirty mind desires.

My blog name and the picture of 3 Red Horns (3RH) has a carpe diem kind of story attached to it. I saw those red horns in Italy (Naples, methinks) in abundance on every corner, on keychains, necklaces, big, small, you name it. Locals told us the phallic shaped horns are a symbol of virility and fertility, worn for protection and luck. I didn't buy any. Bam! Guess what, in the next city, there were none.

Fast forward few years, saw these earrings in Costa Rica, with three red horns and tiny evil eyes on each, made by a local artist. Bought them on the spot.

3 Red Horns, a daily reminder to seize the moment.

With this photo I start the new series #3RHcameraroll. I have over seven thousand pictures on my phone, some good, some great, some too personal. And I never post any, only reblog.

It's so easy to reblog, it's so hard to post your own content. Content creators, I salute you. Those in the beginning of their journey, with nowhere to hide the miniscule number of likes and reblogs. So brave! Today I join you.

Seize the moment. Life is too short not to do what you like, what you crave, what you want.

PS If you follow me, I'm pretty sure, we have a similar taste, and my likes are sincere.

PPS My main writing blog is Sore is More on Blogger with over a hundred of stories. I write stories, poems, and musings, about all things D/s.

PPPS Please follow my backup blog @3rhwriting, just in case. Or those of you who prefer to read my smart and smutty stories and musings, they will be all there, without the endless pictures. 😂

Most of my writing is tagged. My longer original stories are #3RHwriting, thoughts and anecdotes are #3RHmusings, photos are #3RHcameraroll, polls are #3RHcurious. When times call for it, I am #3RHnaughty or #3RHfunny. Pictures of food are obviously #3RHyummy.

#3RH #3RHwriting #3RHmusings #3RHcurious #3RHnaughty #3RHfunny #yes please #always reblog #other writers #3RHyummy #3RHcameraroll #pinned post

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

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Carpe Noctem 28

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, violence, blood, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

The visit from the detective quickly drifts to the back of your mind. You have enough to worry about without dwelling over the unfortunate victim of the break-in. It’s only Cole that reminds you of the strange early morning drop-in as he recounts it to Peter.

It’s just after noon as you set a fresh batch of cookies into the display and Cole wonders about the mystery intruder. Would they come here? Where did they break into? Why? Maybe he should look into a better security system.

Peter is more interested than you are. You continue to transfer the oatmeal raisin, one by one with the tongs, as soft instrumental flows from the new bluetooth speaker Cole installed to add to the atmosphere. It just makes you sleep, you suppose that would drive peoples’ caffeine addiction.

As Peter goes to grab his apron, Cole goes to replace the dark roast filter as a new batch is needed. You stop setting out the cookies to ring through a new customer. The steady flow helps keep you from thinking too much.

You hand over the medium roast and a muffin and watch the man still yammering to his Airpod leave. You turn back as there’s a sudden clamour and Cole gasps as he tears open a preloaded filter and the grinds explode over him. You really wish he would stick to the back office.

“Oh my,” you grab a tea towel as he coughs, turning to you with coffee all over his face. You can’t help but laugh through your irritation.

“What’s going on?” Peter comes out as he ties his apron. “Oh sh–” he guffaws as he points at Cole, “bruh.”

You tut and shake your head. You take the shredded package from Cole and toss it. You turn back to him and dust the grounds off his face with the towel, letting them fall to the floor.

“Get the broom, Peter,” you say as Cole’s blue eyes fixate on you. He keeps his hands slightly out as he watches you. His gaze bores into you hotly, as if he can’t look away. “Well, I think maybe it’s about time you go back and get some of your own work done,” you reproach.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t… I’m so clumsy,” he smiles, his cheeks rosy as you wipe away more of the coffee, moving down his neck to his collar and sweeping away even more.

“Well, you’re going to smell delicious,” you kid as you use your hand to dust off his shirt.

He steps closer, surprising you. More of the grounds litter onto the floor as Peter shuffles in the storage room. Cole seems to lean in but you’re quickly distracted as the cafe door swings open. You step back and clutch the cloth as you face the new customer.

“I shoulda fucking guessed it,” Lloyd lets the door fall open behind him, “I knew you were lying.”

Shit. You’re speechless as he struts across the room, stopping just on the other side of the counter, “kinda fucking funny you’d lie about working at a cafe but I guess I know why.”

Lloyd glares at Cole who stares back in confusion. “Uh, hello, can we get you something–”

“You can shut your mouth. This a conversation between me and her,” Lloyd shoos him with his fingers, “really, this jag off? You’re over here pushing coffee–”

“Please, just go, we can talk after I’m done–”

“No, no, I want the truth. I wanna know who I got in my home? Is it Mimi or a slut?”

“Woah, hey, hey,” Cole steps closer to you, palms out pleadingly, “hey, guy, calm down. You can’t talk to her like that.”

“And who the fuck are you? Shut the fuck up,” Lloyd snarls.

“Wait, wait,” Cole nudges you slightly behind him, “I know you– you broke my windshield.”

“Huh,” Lloyd scoffs and smirks, “that was you? In hindsight, I shoulda done more.”

“What the…” you mutter.

“Look, you’re going to have to leave if you’re not getting anything. And if you’re going to continue to harass my employee, we won’t serve you. So please, let’s be polite–”

“Polite? Polite?” Lloyd blusters, laughing like a hyena, “I’ll show you fucking polite.”

Lloyd grabs the tip jar before either of you can react. He whips it at Cole, hitting him in the jaw, before launching himself across the counter. You cry out as Cole recoils, thrown off balance as Lloyd latches onto his collar. They hit the espresso machine and grunt, rolling around against the counters and shelves as they struggle with each other.

“Peter!” You shout terrified as you stay back, trying not to get caught up in the entangled men. “Peter, call the police–”

Lloyd grunts as he head snaps back. Cole shakes out his fist as he detaches from the other man, and cocks his arm, setting his feet. He grits his teeth as Lloyd wipes the blood away from his nose and brings his own fists up.

“Wanna fuck around?” Lloyd snarls.

“Lloyd, stop!” You shout.

“I got farmer strength, buddy, don’t make me use it,” Cole warns. It’s a bit lame but you don’t think he could be mean if he tried.

“Woah, woah,” Peter rushes in, getting between them with the broom, pointing the handle at Lloyd, “who the hell is Mr. Caterpillar?”

“Stay out of this, boy,” Lloyd warns as he grabs the broom.

“No, no,” you exclaim and grab the broom, twisting it as you insert yourself between Lloyd and the others. Peter lets go and you jab the handle up, sending Lloyd’s hand into his jaw. He releases the broom as you hold it up defensively. “Leave now. Leave me alone. What I do is none of your business. That’s what you said. So go.”

He huffs and juts his chin out, cradling it as his nostrils flare. He looks behind you at Cole and Peter. His eyes search the room like a wolf searching for prey. He curls his lip and spits blood onto the floor.

“You’re fucking right we’re going to talk later,” he steps closer and you sense both the men behind you do the same, “keep up the hard work, Mimi.”

He enunciates the last two syllables venomously. He turns and grabs the milk frother, shoving it to the ground in a crash. You bring the broom horizontal to stop Peter and Cole as they try to charge him. You shake your head and whisper, stop.

Lloyd shoulders past you and hops back over the counter, his sole slipping on the tile and nearly sending him onto his ass. He growls in frustration and stomps to the door. He stops to look back at you, pointing at Cole then turns his hand to flip him off.

“Just you wait, bud, I got a spare tire iron with your fucking name on it.”

He rips open the door and storms out. You take a breath, shaking as you lower the broom. You hang your head and feel your insides crumple.

“I’m sorry, Cole,” you turn to the men, “and Peter, I’m sorry to you too. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”

“Who was that guy?” Peter asks.

“Don’t be sorry,” Cole undercuts, “you did nothing wrong. That wasn’t… your ex? The cop?”

"With a mustache like that, he definitely reads cop," Peter snorts.

You shake your head. You don’t even know how to explain it. You can barely think.

“Hey, hey,” Cole takes the broom gently from you, “hey, you’re shaking like crazy. Why don’t you sit down?”

Peter looks at the store front then back to you, “I should follow that douche–”

“Please,” you gulp as you let Cole take you by the arm and gently lead you away, “please, I don’t–” your voice cracks, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

You can’t help but repeat the words over and over. Not just for them, but to the man in your head raining down punches on you and the man who just left. You’re sorry for all of it.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #cole turner #the gray man #ghosted #drabble #carpe noctem #series #au #the club

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farfromstrange · 27 days

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Carpe Noctem [Chapter One]

ONE: “All these spindly roots”

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Nun!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Religious imagery & symbolism, mentions of rehab, crisis of faith, mentions of blood, the typical "animal attacks" aka vampire attacks, mentions of childhood trauma, stalker vibes at the end, Dead Dove Do Not Eat (the entire series)

Chapter Summary: You return to Clinton Church for the first time since Father Lantom saved your life, but what you first believed as an opportunity to start over reveals itself as a mountain of secrecy you have yet to uncover. Needless to say, your first week as a sister at Saint Agnes leaves you with more questions than answers, and an impending sense of darkness coming to get you.

Word Count: 6.8k

A/n: I finally got this done! I started with 3k words and it doubled in size. But I suppose it is enough to set the scene a little. We will certainly be diving deeper in a short while...

Read Me On AO3!

Sunlight streams through the colorful mosaic of stained glass. Red fades into magenta and violet, and blue fades into yellow. Innocence is a fleeting concept in this modern-day garden of Eden, and salvation remains merely a whispered promise.

Centuries rest on the shoulders of those hallowed walls; the knees of countless worshippers have left indentations on the wooden benches, too many to count, even, but a tragic beauty remains in the art of architecture that stands tall amidst worn-down brownstones in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen.

Catholics believe in the Devil. He preys on the innocent and makes them eat their souls like Eve bit the apple. He corrupts them, slowly, passionately, and intimately until they have nothing left. Then, and only then, does he take them by the hand, and he drags their lifeless bodies down to the fiery pits of hell.

You once danced with him. You met him, and you were charmed by him. You shared a bed with him. You loved him. But then the snake whispered about the forbidden fruit, and you had to taste it. You were already broken when he found you. You were shattered glass on white marble floors, bleeding wine into the cracks. The serpent didn’t have to try—you fell hard and fast for his blatant corruption. A silver tongue whispering the sweet promise of salvation to a broken soul, but you never saw the end of it.

Three years you spent surrounded by brick walls and sycamore trees. It was ironic, really. You, the least catholic person to have ever breathed, confined to the walls of a nunnery. For three years, you prayed your knees bloody, yet three years later, it still feels like you learned nothing at all.

You professed your first vows shortly after you returned to New York. It is a vivid memory. You thought you would never see the city again, not after everything the cold and dark streets put you through, but it was the only place willing to give you something to live for. To survive for.

The cold of the marble stairs before the altar will forever remain etched into your skin. Candlelight reflected in your eyes. When you lifted your gaze, you remember, you met the hollow eyes of Mary as she looked down on you. Like her inanimate features were suddenly overcome by a wave of shame for you. Her hands were clasped in prayer, as most of her statues are. A figure from thousands of retellings forever cast in stone. She was given no choice, but neither were you.

The church was alight with the wonders of early spring the day you took your first vows. Yet, when you met the dead eyes of the Virgin Mary, a shadow cast over her pale features like a widow’s dark veil. The sun disappeared behind a set of clouds with the promise of rain, and the kaleidoscope of colors from the stained glass faded into gray. The walls around you resembled more of an asylum, the priest before you reciting a Bible verse you still fail to remember even to this day. You weren’t listening. A voice was calling for you, and the darkness threatened to possess you with its magic.

The longer you stared at the statue, the more the stories set into the church’s window started to come to life. A window to the soul of Christianity: Mary and Jesus, and the apostles, and Judas betraying Jesus; God’s son dying on the cross for all of our sins before rising and ascending to heaven. Judas was greedy, or so they say. He gave up his friend for money, and in return, they both suffered.

The serpent that tempted Eve crawled out of the glass and toward you, the original sinner. Every story played like a bad movie before your eyes, coming at you inhumanly fast. The voice in the back of your mind kept getting louder, and louder and louder as it called your name.

Your sins hung above your head like a guillotine, the very fruits of your labor you had to bear far too young. A daughter, not a son. An inconvenience to those who bore you. You were forsaken from the start, you were told, and the day you took your first vows to become a child of God after being no one’s daughter for most of your life, the walls of the church seemed to know that even after hours of confessing all of your sins to the priest, no Hail Mary could ever take them away. They would always be there until the day you die. You could have done penance until your knees were bloody—you would always be a sinner in the eyes of the church.

You had the Devil inside you, they said. Because you let him inside. And he did not hesitate to steal your virtue from the source, forever tainting the well of your innocence.

“In the presence of God, the Blessed Virgin Mary, and all the saints, I humbly offer myself to His service,” you recited on those marble steps, but the shadow only continued to grow around you, wrapping its black wings around you. The fallen angel. Was it you or the Devil?

The people around you disappeared. You weren’t taking your vows that day; you were standing trial in front of God and all his disciples who came before you. You were taking a stand, and only the jury could decide if you were worthy of your title.

“I vow to embrace the holy virtues of chastity, poverty, and obedience, following in the footsteps of our Lord Jesus Christ and the teachings of the Holy Scriptures,” you said. “I promise to submit myself to the will of God and commit to live out these vows faithfully all the days of my life. Always.”

Amen.

You lay your broken soul bare, cuffing yourself to the congregation with unbreakable steel and throwing away the key. And there remained the voice, calling for you from the threshold to the darkness.

You thought you could ignore it. Until you returned to Hell’s Kitchen.

Until him.

Your heels drag over the stone floors of the seemingly endless hallway stretching through Clinton Church. The walls look different when you’re not running. When you can breathe without yearning for means of self-destruction that set fire to your lungs.

When you asked Father Lantom if you could come back to Clinton Church, he didn’t hesitate. You were unsure what it would be like. The last time you were here, the circumstances that led you into the arms of the empathetic priest were anything but conventional. The memories you have since tied to this place are a conflict between reaching your breaking point and begging for someone, anyone, to help you, and the overwhelming guilt that came with committing the worst of crimes, and a cardinal sin.

You were not a woman of God. You doubt you were a human being at all. If anything, you were a puppet.

Father Lantom said three years ago, “When you feel ready to take your first vows, come back. I will always have a room waiting for you.” And come back, you did—for he was the one who held your hand when you were falling into an abyss headed for certain death. When you were covered in blood and feared you would burn in hell, the past came back to haunt you with pitchforks and execute you at the stake for the entire town to see. He was there, and in that moment you knew you could not disappoint him. It was then you first started believing in the idea of God.

You gaze down at your habit. The tunic, the cincture, and the veil. You have never been more dressed up, yet you have never felt more naked in the eyes of another man. The fear of judgment for choosing a path you once thought you would only pick over your dead body is rooted so deeply within you that it nails you to an invisible cross.

“Three years,” the priest breaks the silence. You look over at him, walking beside you as he leads you around the hidden corners you’re not yet familiar with.

You nod. “Three years,” you repeat. “Doesn’t feel like that long ago.”

Sensing your conflict and the underlying insecurity that renders you speechless a lot of the time, Father Lantom clears his throat. “You look…better,” he says.

“Thank you, Father. My time at St. Anne’s was very… self-reflective. I learned a lot.”

“Good. I’m proud of you.”

Your wide eyes snap back up at him. Oh.

Pride is not the word you would have used. Proud of you, he said. He sent you away to cleanse your soul, and most days you are not sure if it even worked, but he is proud of you. The man who only knows the worst version of you looked at you and saw good instead of evil. It is a concept that had once been so foreign to you.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“For what?” he asks.

“This. Everything.” You shrug. “I wasn’t sure if you still wanted me here, so hearing you say that…it means a lot to me.”

“I promised you would always have a room here if you chose to come back.”

There is so much sincerity in his voice. In his eyes. You swallow thickly, feeling the tears burn behind your eyes. You don’t want to cry in front of him, but the words die miserably on your tongue. Instead, you nod. You just hope your eyes manage to convey what you want to say.

The priest leads you to a door that connects the church with the grounds of the orphanage next door. “You will be living with the other sisters at Saint Agnes,” he tells you. The change of subject is welcome. “After we had to close our convent because Tony Stark could not be bothered to fund our restoration, all postulants who have since wanted to join our order were sent to study at St. Anne’s. Like you. But most of them stayed there,” his tone changes slightly into hurting. “They offer a lot more than we can. Donations can only get us so far, and we barely get those anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” you cut in.

He sighs, waving your concern off with the flick of his wrist. “We make due, and now that you’re here… well, the sisters are going to appreciate the extra help.” Father Lantom puts on another smile like you would put on your veil. “We don’t have any separate living quarters, unfortunately,” he states, “so your room is a floor above the children’s dormitories. Sister Grace offered to show you around.”

“Sister Grace?”

“She’s the one in charge.”

Your eyes flick back to the walls you’re passing. Intricate details are carved into the stone even here, far away from the chapel. These hand-made masterpieces breathe a certain eeriness into the church. Not just life but a certain wave of mystique because even the stories from the bible are left open for interpretation, especially when they are turned into art.

A sense of doom falls over you like a dark cloud. “Does she know?” you ask.

Father Lantom raises his eyebrows. He studies your features. Your chin tipped toward the ceiling, observing. He notices the gentle shift in your breathing pattern as your heartbeat speeds up, and when you meet his eyes again after an agonizing bout of silence, he smiles at you once again.

“Sister Grace?” he inquires. You nod. “Well,” he says, “She does know. She’s the abbess. I had to let her in when I told her you were coming here, but I assure you, she swore to the utmost discretion.”

You breathe out. The weight rests heavily on your chest. “And everyone else?” You turn back to him.

The Father shakes his head. His eyes are so gentle. “It’s not my story to tell,” he says. “If there’s one thing I learned after years of talking to people—taking their confessions, listening to their fears, their anger, and their pain—it’s that we all suffer. We all have things we’d rather not talk about.”

The words penetrate your heart like a sharp dagger.

“And as humans, we tend to often see our burdens as sins, even if those apparent sins hurt us, or we had to commit them to protect ourselves from getting hurt. And sometimes, hurt people do stupid things. Objectively stupid, that is. It doesn’t mean we are going to hell for doing what it takes to survive. People suffer, and most of the time, that suffering doesn’t stop. That’s the truth,” he says. “Now, a lot of these people come to confession because they think it will give them a clear conscience, which it does, momentarily. They believe that God will make the pain go away with the snap of his omniscient fingers. A few Hail Marys, a few extra hours at Sunday mass, and your burdens will be dealt with. That is not the truth. Confession is not therapy because penance does not heal decades of trauma. If that were how it works, we would collapse from overcrowding.”

Father Lantom breaks off with a chuckle, but you can’t find amusement in his wisest insight. It’s real, too real. You can’t even muster a pity smile.

“Why do we do it then?” you ask.

“Do you want the Catholic answer or my personal opinion?”

“If those don’t intersect, I’ll choose the latter. Please.”

He takes a moment. “Well, confession works as a tool,” he explains then. “God knows the difference between an actual sin and human nature. Sometimes, these two are the same, but a lot of the time, there is a big difference, and He knows that. Confession helps regain balance where you’re standing with your faith. That’s why we do it. Because faith… faith can be a strong motivator. That’s why a lot of us—sisters, priests, and… and monks—are here now. Because we found a passion and a purpose in devoting ourselves to God. It’s not for everyone, of course, but it is a clean slate if you want it to be. Whether you tell the other sisters about why you chose this path, is up to you. Not me. Because that trauma is yours, and yours alone.”

The silence stretches between you, long, longer, as the church holds its breath. You absorb every word and every breath of his like a sponge. You swallow them. A bitter pill, that’s what it is. It goes down like hard liquor.

You walk a few more steps in that silence with his eyes on you and the world on fire within. “Father,” you whisper. The sound is not more than that. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. And this time, you smile at him.

Behind the door that leads to the orphanage, another hallway awaits. The walls smell faintly of moss—nature but a bit rotten. A woman in a similar habit makes her way toward the two of you from the end of the hall. She carries herself with a quiet air of authority. You can’t look through her.

Father Lantom may have vouched for Sister Grace and her discretion, but her judgment is not his to determine. She is her own woman, with thoughts only she can determine. You’re not sure if you are ready for that, either.

He greets her with a smile. “Sister Grace,” he says.

“Father. Good morning,” at him, she smiles.

He nudges you forward. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

Her gaze shifts to you then. “The uniform is unmistakable.” She nods. “Welcome, Sister.”

It’s a start, a small step towards finding your place within these hallowed walls.

“Thank you, Sister,” you reply. “It’s nice meeting you.”

“Likewise. Though it’s been a while since we had someone new here. So young, too.”

“I know. Father Lantom mentioned. I’ll try my hardest not to disappoint you.”

She nods. “Let’s get you settled into your room first before we worry about that. I believe Father Lantom has mass to prepare.”

Father Lantom gives you a reassuring nod. “I’ll leave you in Sister Grace’s capable hands. And remember, you are not alone. If you need help with anything, don’t hesitate to come and find me.” With that, he turns and makes his way back through the door you came from, leaving you with your fellow sister and a lump in your throat.

She leads you down the corridor. “This way,” she says. “Your room is above the children’s dormitories. Second floor. You’ll find it quiet enough for reflection but close enough to be of help when needed.”

Her tone suggests that you will be plenty busy, no matter where your room is in the building. More work means less time to think, and less time with your thoughts sounds like a blessing.

As you follow her, the faint sounds of children playing filter through the walls. It’s a comforting contrast to the silence you’ve grown accustomed to.

Sister Grace opens a door to a narrow staircase, and you both begin to climb. “The other sisters will be eager to meet you,” she says over her shoulder.

You nod, even though she can’t see you. “I am, too,” you answer.

At the top of the stairs, she leads you down another hallway, then finally stops at a simple wooden door. “This one...will be your room.” She pushes it open to reveal the small space behind, connected to a window with a clear view of the adjacent cemetery. “I admit, it is a little scarce,” Sister Grace says, “but you are more than welcome to add a few personal touches; pictures, curtains, maybe even a plant or two. Don’t worry, Father Lantom encourages it.”

The wooden floorboards creak beneath your weight as you step inside. You look around. A single bed, neatly made with crisp white linens and a worse-for-wear mattress occupies one corner of the room, a crucifix nailed above the headrest, and casting a faint shadow on the aged plaster walls. On the other side, a desk and a wardrobe offer some storage space that leads to a second door—the bathroom. It is scarce, but you came here with nothing but a cardboard box filled with your hopes and dreams and books and diaries; people have built homes from less.

“Our shared kitchen is downstairs. Feel free to store your food in the fridge, but don’t forget to label the containers if you don’t wish to share.” Sister Grace pauses, chuckling softly as her hazel eyes meet yours. “You wouldn’t believe it, but even nuns can be picky eaters, and very territorial about snacks.”

You smile, but your attempt at kindness falls into artificiality. “Thank you.”

“Nonsense. We look after each other around here.”

There has to be more to it, surely. Innocent may be a construct, but most of the sisters in the community were born into their faith. They started studying from a young age, always destined to dedicate themselves to the cause. You were far from religious before destiny found you dying in the flames of your old life. Whether destiny or a curse befell you that night remains open for interpretation. You have seen it both ways. An opportunity arose. You received a second chance from a very nice man, but the price to pay was your soul sacrificed to a God you once thought you would never believe in.

Do you have faith or do you not? It is a loaded question. You think you do. You want to know you do too, but you are never fully certain. In the eyes of God, you are a loyal soldier who studied the scriptures and did her due diligence praying for penance, but when you look in the mirror, all you see is Judas.

A heavy breath ripples through you. “You didn’t have to let me in,” you whisper. “Father Lantom didn’t have to offer me refuge, but he did. And you’re not judging me even though you have all right to… I just don’t understand.”

Her answer is a shrug. “When you were desperate,” says the sister, “God led you to us, and you found refuge at the church like so many before you. I don’t believe that was a coincidence.”

You were covered in blood when you came—your hands stained with the essence of another man’s life, clothes torn beyond recognition. You can still feel his hands on you, wandering, lurking… The crimson had seeped into the fine lines of your palms. It took you days to get rid of it, and weeks more to scrub the last remains from under your fingernails down the drain.

You grapple with their decision. “I, uh… I wasn’t sure. At St. Anne’s, they treated me like an outsider. Because I didn’t grow up Catholic, and—”

“And you found your faith in rehab?” Sister Grace smiles knowingly. “Trust me, it happens so often that it no longer comes as a surprise.”

“But there is still judgment. There will always be judgment,” you insist.

She takes your words into account, nodding. They digest for a brief moment until she breaks into a soft chuckle—a mere breath from her full-moon lips.

“A small piece of advice, if I may?” she asks. You hum. “If you spend all your time here questioning whether God has forgiven you for your sins, your lack of faith in the Lord, as tiny as it may be, will always stand between you and taking your final vow. And if you keep worrying about the judgment of anyone other than God, you won’t find happiness.”

You vowed to dedicate your life to religious service, and if you don’t close the last period of your study after taking temporary three vows with a solemn declaration to give up even the last of your possessions then the gap between you and God will be too big for you to ever be anything but a simple sister of the congregation.

But is that what you want? To close that gap and give yourself fully to a higher power? It would be a live sacrifice, you knew that from the start.

You believe in God and the Devil, and you believe in eternal damnation. And you believe that you are damned, too. Doomed, forsaken, and cursed. A scratched record. God’s wrath is not a match for the fear you instill in yourself; your mere existence is maddening.

You are drowning in a darkness you were born with, and possessed by demons you never learned how to exorcize. Not even studying a newfound faith in God to get on the right path could get rid of the monsters that are not lurking under your bed or in the shadows but in the dark corners of your mind.

The beast inside of you has gone to sleep, but God knows that he is a ticking time bomb, even in a comatose state. The Devil has planted his seed—all these spindly roots growing from your soul to the pit of your stomach, digging their claws into your fragile heart and tearing you to shreds. The protective poison ivy you grew over the years can only last so long without water before it starts to wither.

You look over your shoulder when the door shuts gently behind Sister Grace as she leaves you be.

The cardboard box on your desk holds an abundance of scriptures, books, and leather-bound diaries. Your diaries. They told you that writing your feelings on paper would help you heal. If you crave something you know you should and cannot have, you should write it down; you have been for years now, but with every pen wasted and every diary hidden in compartments around your room so no one can find them, the words you write turn into firewood, and your tears are the gasoline.

Outside, the wind brushes through the trees. It beckons you, its tendrils creeping into your consciousness like creatures of the night reaching for the last flickers of light.

With a heavy heart, you flip open the worn-down leather. Seconds turn into minutes turn into hours turn into days. Knees turn bloody from praying, and the joy of one child’s happiness dies at the hands of another’s trauma.

Dear Diary,

Yesterday, the groundskeeper dug another hole in the cemetery. Father Lantom will officiate the funeral on Sunday. Another addition to the bones and rotting corpses hiding under a shield of dirt, but does anyone know what happens after?

I tried to ask the Father, but he didn’t give me a satisfying answer. He told me what he thought I wanted to hear, but I did not. I can’t help but wonder if he is protecting me or keeping secrets. The latter would be highly unethical, I suppose.

Other than maintaining a religious belief in heaven or hell or rebirth while we are alive, what does happen to us after we die? Is it definite? Is it infinite or is there something else, something... more?

Is it the Devil? Is it God? Or is it heaven and hell?

And why do they keep digging holes in the cemetery? The children keep asking me every day, but I do not know how to answer them.

Dear Diary, where do we go when it is all over?

The clinking of porcelain and cutlery emerges from the kitchen like a mushroom cloud. As you approach the dining room through a long hallway, the soft soles of your vinyl shoes barely make a sound. The voices inside overlap, but a few rise from the masses, demanding your attention. Like a moth to a flame, you fly toward it.

“…and they found another one this morning. Washed up on the river banks after the storm last night,” one of the sisters whispers to another.

“It’s been fifteen this month alone,” another one says.

“What kind of animal does that?” a third cuts in.

“The kind that isn’t an animal,” says the nun you now recognize as Sister Marjorie, the oldest of the bunch. “It happens every two months for twenty years that bodies wash up on the shore, supposedly mauled by a bear or a baboon in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen, and then the city grows quiet again. I’ve been here for forty-five years, and it still happens like clockwork.”

The one next to her sighs. “Well, maybe it’s the changing climate. Lord knows it has humans and animals going crazy alike.”

“Can’t you see?” Marjorie raises her voice. “These aren’t the actions of an animal. It’s the Devil!”

It seems as though the mere thought puts the fear of God in them—your fellow sisters, usually so strong and collected, reduced to whispers of the rumor mill as the color fades from their skin.

Sister Grace clicks her tongue, interrupting them all at once. “That’s enough,” she says, trying to remain calm but there is still a sense of urgency in her voice. It’s not an exclamation but a well-concealed warning. Behind that façade hides a leader you would not want to cross twice.

Only one of Sister Marjorie’s eyes finds you standing there, eavesdropping like a misbehaving child. The other remains unmoving, caged in by a white scar across her cheek and an iris made of glass.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Animal attacks?” you dare to ask.

Heads snap toward you. The table falls speechless, compelled into a sudden silence by your presence. The world stops turning.

“Oh, dear, don’t you worry about that,” Sister Grace, the first to find her voice again, reassures you. She ushers you from the doorway to the table, but the eyes of your fellow sisters suddenly feel like tiny needles all over your skin. “It’s just idle gossip,” she says, shooting the others a glare, “nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

But the silence starts to wrap around your neck like a noose regardless. Curiosity is only appreciated when they can answer it, you have learned. In the eyes of God, lying is a sin, and you spend each day teaching the children to believe the same, but is omitting not essentially the same as lying?

They’re scared. They don’t want to admit it; no one does. Fear does not fit under the veil of ignorance, so they try concealing it as idle gossip. The rumor mill is always spinning, and it is an outstanding excuse, but you will never forget the look in Marjorie’s eyes when you dared to ask—dared to question.

A thud from outside causes you to sit upright in your bed later that evening. The springs that are digging into your lower back creak when you move so suddenly.

Through the window, you can see the cemetery hulled into a fog where cold and warm air meet for the night. You put the children to bed, got them dressed in their pajamas, brushed their teeth, and told the little ones a bedtime story. They like it when you do it. Something about the way you tell them fascinates their little minds, so it has become a ritual in the week you have been here.

The more it strikes you as odd that there is noise outside. After bedtime, no one is supposed to be out and about, and if a sister has something to do out of schedule, they have to share it with the group. For safeguarding reasons, they told you.

Against your better judgment, you roll out of bed and into your slippers, wrapping a cardigan around your body. Your nightgown is not the warmest thing to wear on these cold walls unless it is under a thick wool blanket.

The door creaks when you open it. Father Lantom gave you a flashlight a few nights ago because he asked you to take care of something on the church grounds for him after the sun had set, so you kept it. You weren’t sure if you would still need it. Thankfully, you did.

You follow the noise to the back door one floor below. It leads out into the backyard, and a few more feet east, a fence and a gate separate the many acres of the cemetery from the rest of the church’s grounds.

The flashlight illuminates the path before you. “If it’s another stupid raccoon, I swear…” you mutter to yourself. It wouldn’t be the first time one of those critters found their way into the trashcans and caused mayhem in the middle of the night.

Somehow though, it always seems to be you who catches them. The night-owl. The one who is always on guard, always on edge, even when she knows she is safe.

You wander through the backyard, closer to the fence. You tilt your head. There is a small gap in the gate to the cemetery. The fog makes it harder to see.

“Hello?” you call out into the darkness. Nothing.

Through the rustling of leaves and the howling of an owl in the woods far beyond Saint Agnes, a small whimper breaks the silence like a hot knife. It is faint, but unmistakable nonetheless.

You strain your ears. “Oh no,” once again, you curse to yourself. “No, no, no…”

You follow the sound through the gate and into the cemetery. June Montgomery and her husband share a grave. They died over twenty years ago, but it is still well-maintained by their children and grandchildren. A few steps further though, the infestation of poison ivy begins.

The graves under the gigantic cherry tree are the most hidden, and the best hiding spots. You had to tell the children many times that the cemetery is not a hiding place, especially not for games, and never alone, even when the gates are open. The general public has access to it during the day, and if they wander too far, they will land on a populated street. It’s dangerous.

You were so careful. You did everything by the book, and someone still managed to sneak out.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the wet grass soaking your thin slippers until you come upon a small figure huddled behind one of the bewildered gravestones. Sara Mayfield; she died in 1945. Your sigh resembles a cry of relief.

“Timmy!” you exclaim. “Thank God!”

He’s curled up into a ball behind the headstone. Tears stream down his cheeks in bottomless rivers. Your flashlight blinds him, and his whimpers escalate to sobs. Your heart shatters at the sight.

“Hey there, it's okay,” you try to soothe him, crouching beside his tiny figure. “It's just me. Hi. What are you doing out here all alone?” You shed your cardigan, wrapping it around his shoulders. “It’s the middle of the night, sweetheart.”

From what you’ve learned about Timmy, his parents died in a freakish car accident about a year ago. He was in the car when his father fell asleep at the wheel and drove the car into a tree. His mother died instantaneously, but his father bled out right in front of him. He has been receiving therapy ever since he came to Saint Agnes, but he is a troubled child.

Timmy sniffles, accepting the makeshift blanket. He recognizes you, which is a good sign. “I had a nightmare,” he confesses. “I-I wanted to see the stars, but then I heard a crash, and I got scared.”

You wrap your arms around him. “It’s okay to be scared,” you say. “But you shouldn’t wander off by yourself, especially at night. You should have come to me, or Sister Grace.”

“I’m sorry, Sister.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m just glad nothing happened to you.”

His skin is clammy and cold. You don’t know how long he has been out here, but he is also in no state to be questioned.

“Come on,” you say and lift him into your arms. “Let’s get you back inside.”

Together, you make your way back towards the orphanage. But as you approach the gate, there it is again, that voice. Whispers of nothing in the chilly breeze. The air crackles with a certain, sinister something. A chill runs down your spine, and the back of your skull starts to burn as though someone is watching you. Listening. Lurking. And it is not a raccoon this time.

You set Timmy down on his feet. He whimpers again. “Go to your room. I’ll be right there,” you tell him.

He looks up at you with his innocent blue eyes. “Promise?” he asks.

“Yes. Promise.”

The boy lets go of your hand, quickly sneaking back inside. He knows better than to make any more noise. Any other sister would have threatened consequences. But he’s just a traumatized little boy, and the night is dangerous. It’s creepy. Of course, it would only add to childish fear and trauma that has had time to manifest for an entire year.

You turn around when he is safely inside, pointing your flashlight in the direction where you came from.

You scan the blanket of fog for any sign of movement. And that’s when you see it—a shadowy, obscured figure standing amidst the graves by the woods, behind the cherry tree.

Your breath catches in your throat, the whispers echoing in your mind once more. It could not be your name. It’s something else. Latin, perhaps. What terrifies you most though is that you're not scared; you feel strangely drawn to the figure.

You hold your breath. The figure tilts its head, and you do the same. Your heartbeat remains eerily steady throughout. You should scream. You should alert everyone that there is something—someone—out there, but they would call you crazy, surely. And maybe you are. No sane person hears voices and sees the darkness as a comforting presence. Not a nun. Not someone who is not supposed to let the Devil win. And what other explanation is there but for the figure to be a phantom of the Devil's making?

In the blink of an eye, the figure is gone. The hold on your lungs eases, and you gasp for air like a desperate woman.

Instinctively, you turn to the door and usher inside. Timmy is still standing there. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

You shake your head, trying to clear your mind. “Nothing,” you say, but when you lock the door to make sure no one can get in or out, your hands shake. A single drop of sweat runs down your temple. “Come on.”

Inside, you’re freezing. Like a cold hand touched you and set you on fire, but it had claws that let the ice age into your heart, and now you’re poisoned.

Taking Timmy back to his room, you can’t shake the feeling of unease that gnaws at your insides like a hungry beast. You tuck him in; you check under his bed for monsters, and you lock the windows. It takes a while for him to settle back into sleep, but when he finally does, you leave his room on your tiptoes and close it.

The other children are all peacefully asleep, and your fellow sisters seem to not have noticed the commotion you caused on your way in. Every door is locked—you check twice. Still, when you get to your room, your hands tremble once again when you use the key for the fragile lock for the first time.

Fear is not what compels you. Uneasiness, maybe, but not fear. The venom in your veins stems from something else entirely. You can’t explain it. The feeling is familiar somehow, but so foreign at the same time.

You clutch the rosary from the nightstand over your diary, facing the fog you yearn for so desperately. “Foolish, foolish idiot,” you mutter.

Dear Diary,

Did I force myself upon God out of… of guilt? Or was it a sign that He led me to Clinton Church that night? I thought penance would wash away my sins, that by dedicating myself to Him, I could erase the past. You know, like magic. But I was so wrong. Father Lantom… He told me that’s not how it works, and Sister Grace… She’s so sure that will stand in my way, and now I can’t help but wonder… Did I study scripture and Catholic rules for the past three years like a mad woman out of faith or because I was trying to make good for something I did by neutralizing myself?

I’m lost. I don’t know the path to righteousness, and I don’t know how to silence this… this darkness inside me. I can hear it calling my name. Every night… I’m scared that I’m not scared enough. I’m a flawed creature; I’m desperate and tired, but I don’t want to disappoint Him. But how can I?

How do I serve a God I have been lying to from the start, and how the fuck do I fix this?

You squeeze your eyes shut, the pen cracking under the pressure, and the ink bleeds onto the page, over the letters and your broken heart. Your blue fingers wrap around the rosary again as what you have written disappears under the chemical ocean.

In the heat of the moment, you tear the page out of its confines, but it has tainted all the ones to come. You ruined it like you ruined yourself. The page had been you once, being bled all over by an ink meant to stain for the rest of your miserable life, but you tried to glue it back in place. You tried not to fall apart like your diary just did at your very hands—as everything you touch rots or turns to ashes eventually.

You ball a fist around the paper, tossing it across the room. It hits the window. You catch your runny reflection in the glass. To think you were just looking to be loved, to be seen and forgiven ever since you were a little girl dreaming of being a princess, but instead, you are falling apart.

But no, you will not let the Devil win. You pull the curtains closed, and you hide the cemetery where it belongs—with the dead, both in heaven and hell and everything in between. The Devil can’t have you because God already does.

You have to seize the night before it seizes you. Anything else would be, for the lack of a better word, certain suicide.

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