#not so casually changes my theme..after so long..

The bell jingles softly overhead, drawing your attention from the carafe you were filling to the front door. Your usual regular comes in every day at the same time: 7 a.m. sharp, yet you have never once caught his name. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t care; you always remembered people's names when they introduced themselves. But this customer, in particular, always made you feel a certain way. 

Tall, broad shoulders, dark curly hair, tattoos, big dark-amber doe eyes, and always adorned in various band tees and metal accessories; you couldn’t help but be awestruck whenever he came in.

Asking for his name was difficult when you could barely peel your eyes off of him to make his coffee or give him his change. 

And, not to mention, he always greeted you the same way, which even after four months of seeing him made your stomach flutter all the same. 

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he said casually, gliding over to the counter and resting his elbows on the glass. 

“Hey, you,” you replied. ‘Hey you?’ What am I, a fucking idiot? “What can I do ya for?”

He pointed across the counter. "Didn't pin you for a Kappa Delta girl."

Your eyes followed his hand down to the faded green letters stretched across your chest, and you groaned dramatically.

"Oh, God, don't remind me."

"So you are?"

"Unfortunately."

A laugh rumbled out of him. "Unfortunately?"

"My grandmother was one. My mom was one. My older sister was one. Legacy status and all that." You shrugged. "Plus they have alumni connections that could basically hand me internships after graduation, so..."

"So you sold your soul."

"I leased it," you corrected. "There's a difference."

He barked another laugh, head tipping back just enough for the silver chain around his neck to catch the morning light. "I knew there had to be a catch."

You folded your arms across the counter, narrowing your eyes playfully. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

He looked at you for a second. Not glanced, looked.

"I don't know," he admitted. "You don't exactly scream sorority girl."

Your lips twitched. "What do I scream?"

His eyes wandered for a moment, taking in the long black nails, the silver hoops decorating your nose, the tiny bat charm hanging from your necklace, and the faint outline of tattoos disappearing beneath your sleeves.

"You look like you'd bully frat boys for fun."

"I do."

"I believe it."

"I've made three cry."

His grin got even bigger. "I definitely believe it."

You busied yourself finishing his drink, trying very hard not to think about the fact that he'd apparently been paying enough attention to have an opinion about you at all.

You slid the cup onto the counter. "That'll be four eighty-six."

His hand instinctively went to his back pocket, then his front, then his jacket. The smile slowly disappeared from his face.

"...You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

"What?"

"My wallet."

He patted himself down again like it might magically appear. "I left it at home."

He let out a breath through his nose and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry. I can run back and—"

You waved him off before he could finish. "It's fine."

"No, it's not."

"It is."

He looked unconvinced. You leaned your elbows on the counter.

"The owner of this place is some rich schmuck who spends six months out of the year in the Bahamas and has never once noticed if inventory's off by a cup of coffee."

"I still don't want you getting in trouble."

"I won't."

"You sure?"

You smiled.

"I've accidentally made the wrong drink three times this week."

"You?"

"I'm shockingly incompetent."

"I don't buy that for a second."

"You shouldn't."

A quiet laugh escaped him as you nudged the cup another inch toward him. "Take it."

For a second, he just looked at you. Then he picked it up carefully. "Thanks... sweetheart."

You pretended that didn't make your stomach flip. As he turned to leave, he paused, looking back over his shoulder. "You know..."

"What?"

"I've been coming here every morning for four months."

"Mhm."

"You've never asked my name."

You blinked. "...Huh."

"And I just realized I've never asked yours, either."

A sheepish smile spread across your face. "I guess we're both terrible at introductions."

"I guess we are."

You reached across the counter and plucked the cup back out of his hand before he could protest.

"What're you doing?"

"Fixing it."

You uncapped your Sharpie and quickly wrote something on the side before handing it back. He looked down. Instead of his order, there was your first name, and underneath it, your phone number.

His eyes flicked back up to yours. You suddenly became very interested in the espresso machine behind you.

"So..." you mumbled. "Now you know mine."

A slow smile spread across his face, softer than the cocky little grin he'd walked in with. He looked back down at the cup one more time before meeting your eyes again.

"Eddie."

"What?"

"My name."

You couldn't help smiling. "It's nice to finally meet you, Eddie."

He wrapped one hand around the warm cup, still looking at the writing on the side.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I think it is."

The common room smelled faintly of vanilla candles and expensive perfume, with a hint of whatever pumpkin spice disaster someone had burned in the kitchen that afternoon.

You were tucked into the corner of the oversized sectional with your legs folded beneath you, a dog-eared paperback resting comfortably in your lap. It was one of the only quiet places on campus, at least in theory.

In reality, there were six girls gathered around the coffee table barely ten feet away, and they had absolutely no concept of indoor voices.

"Oh my God, did you see his face?" one of them laughed, nearly spilling her drink. "I genuinely thought he was gonna cry."

Another girl snorted. "He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole."

Your eyes stayed fixed on the page. You'd gotten remarkably good at pretending not to listen.

"I still can't believe we made him stand outside with that sign."

"And then nobody even talked to him."

"I did."

The group collectively turned toward Madison, who looked far too pleased with herself.

"You did not."

"I swear."

"What'd you say?"

She took a sip from her cup with a little smirk. "He asked me if I wanted to get coffee sometime."

Someone immediately burst out laughing. "No, he didn't."

"He absolutely did."

"And?"

"I said yes."

A chorus of dramatic gasps erupted around the room. "You are such a liar."

"I'm serious."

"So you're actually going?"

Madison's smile widened into something that made your stomach turn. "Oh, absolutely."

You looked up from your book for the first time. She continued casually, like she was discussing the weather.

"I'm gonna tell him to meet me at Romano's Friday night."

Someone else caught on instantly. "Oh, my God."

"And then?"

"I'm not showing up."

Another girl laughed.

"No, no. Better." Madison leaned forward conspiratorially. "I'm gonna have Tyler and Jake there recording him waiting."

The room exploded into laughter. "We'll post it."

"That's so evil."

"It's hilarious."

"He seriously thought he had a chance."

Someone chimed in from the armchair. "Didn't you guys dump a trash can on him during hazing?"

"That was different."

"We also shaved his eyebrows."

"You did not."

"Just one."

More laughter.

You slowly closed your book. The sound wasn't loud, but it was enough to draw a few eyes toward you.

"What?" Madison asked.

You looked at her for a second before speaking. "Don't do that."

She blinked.

"...Do what?"

"The date."

Her expression immediately soured with amusement.

"It's just a joke."

"No, it's not."

"He'll get over it."

You slipped your bookmark between the pages. "He asked because he likes you."

"No," Madison scoffed. "He asked because I'm hot."

"And he thinks you're nice."

That earned another round of laughter. "Oh, sweetheart."

You ignored it. "If you don't want to go, don't go."

"I don't."

"Then tell him no."

Madison rolled her eyes. "Where's the fun in that?"

You looked at her for another long second. "I don't know."

Your voice stayed perfectly calm. "I've just never thought humiliating someone for liking me sounded particularly entertaining."

Another girl shrugged. "You're too nice."

"I don't think that's what this is."

Madison leaned back against the couch. "God, you're such a grandma."

You smiled faintly. "I've been called worse."

Someone changed the subject almost immediately, conversation moving on to parties and outfits and football games, but your attention had already drifted, and you looked back down at your book.

The words blurred together. You couldn't stop thinking about the poor freshman with one eyebrow, standing outside some restaurant waiting for a girl who was never planning on showing up.

By the time you came downstairs that afternoon, the entire house was buzzing. Not with excitement, but with gossip.

The television mounted above the fireplace was muted, some reality show flickering silently across the screen while half a dozen girls occupied every available couch and armchair, coffees in hand and phones practically glued to their palms.

You'd barely made it three steps into the common room before you heard Madison's name.

"...I'm telling you, he actually waited almost forty minutes."

Another girl burst into laughter. "No, he did not."

"He absolutely did."

You quietly crossed toward the kitchen, hoping to escape unnoticed. No such luck.

"Did you hear about that freshman?" someone asked from behind you.

You looked over your shoulder. "No."

"The one Madison was talking to."

"Oh."

You already had a bad feeling. A blonde sitting cross-legged on the sofa practically bounced with excitement. "So apparently she texted him to meet her at Romano's last night."

You didn't say anything.

"Poor idiot actually showed up with flowers."

Your stomach sank while another voice chimed in. "Not flowers."

"A single rose."

"Oh my God, that's even worse."

The room dissolved into giggles while You stayed quiet.

"He waited forever," another girl continued. "Then his pledge masters showed up."

"They told him Madison was waiting downstairs."

"In the basement."

You slowly lowered the mug you'd been reaching for. "...Romano's has a basement?"

"It rents out the lower level for parties."

Someone snorted. "They took him down there and made him chug like half a bottle of vodka."

"No, it was whiskey."

"I heard it was tequila."

"They made him eat dog food."

"They shaved his head."

"They wrote all over him with Sharpie."

"I heard they made him call his mom drunk and then run across the freeway."

The details changed with every person who spoke, each version somehow becoming more ridiculous than the last, but the laughter never stopped.

The point wasn't what had happened; the point was that everyone thought it was funny.

One girl looked up from her phone. "I heard his name's Gareth."

Another shrugged. "Whatever it is, he's definitely dropping."

Madison herself wandered into the room a moment later, completely unfazed, grabbing a yogurt from the refrigerator as if they were discussing the weather instead of another human being.

The second she sat down, someone asked, "Did he actually bring you flowers?"

She grinned. "Apparently."

The room erupted again.

You stared at her, and she noticed, staring right back. "What?"

"You knew he was going to."

"So?"

"So you still sent him there."

Madison looked genuinely confused by your expression. "It was a joke."

"No," you said quietly. "It wasn't."

She rolled her eyes. "He's a frat pledge. They'll haze him either way."

"That doesn't mean you had to help."

"Oh, my God." She laughed through the words. "Are you actually feeling bad for him?"

You looked around the room; nobody else seemed bothered. Some of them were still laughing. One girl was already recounting the story over FaceTime to somebody else.

Finally, you looked back at Madison. "I just think if someone asks you on a date and you're not interested..." You shrugged, "...you could just say no."

For a brief second, nobody said anything. Then Madison smirked. "You are so weird."

Another girl nodded. "Seriously."

You looked down at your coffee for a moment before forcing a small grin onto your face, one that had become second nature over the years.

"Whatever," you said with a little shrug. "I won't be “weird” once I bring you all free pastries after work."

That immediately changed the mood. Madison gasped dramatically. "Are we talking muffins or those chocolate croissants?"

"The croissants."

"I take everything back."

Another girl pointed at you from across the room. "See? This is why we keep you around."

"For my sparkling personality?"

"No."

"The day-old baked goods."

A couple of them laughed, the conversation effortlessly drifting away from Gareth and onto weekend plans, football games, and who was wearing what to Saturday night's mixer. You let them; it was easier.

You'd long since figured out that there wasn't much point in arguing. They'd laugh, call you sensitive, tell you to lighten up, and move on without giving it another thought.

So instead, you simply grabbed your bag from beside the stairs, waved over your shoulder, and headed for work. The walk into town did little to shake the conversation from your head.

You found yourself thinking about the boy you'd never met, sitting alone at Romano's with flowers in his hand, probably checking the door every few minutes with that tiny flicker of hope that somebody was actually going to show up.

The image lingered even as you unlocked the café and tied your apron around your waist.

Your afternoon shifts were usually uneventful.

A handful of students hiding behind laptops, professors grading papers over americanos, the occasional frazzled parent trying to wrangle a screaming toddler with a blueberry scone.

Which was exactly why, barely an hour into your shift, the familiar jingle above the front door made your head snap up.

You blinked. For a second, you genuinely thought you'd imagined him.

Eddie stood just inside the entrance, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, curls a little windblown from outside.

He looked around the café until his eyes landed on yours; a slow smile spread across his face.

"Well, this is new."

You couldn't help smiling back. "It is."

He wandered over to the counter, looking around theatrically. "I was beginning to think they kept you in a little cabinet overnight and only took you out at seven in the morning."

You laughed. "Nope."

"So you're actually a real person."

"Allegedly."

"Huh."

He rested his elbows on the counter. "I kinda liked the mysterious coffee cryptid theory better."

"I'm flattered."

"You should be."

He glanced up at the menu before looking right back at you. "So... this is your afternoon shift?"

You nodded. "Covering for somebody."

"I almost didn't come in."

"No?"

"Nah."

He smiled to himself. "Glad I did now."

You leaned against the espresso machine, folding your arms as he dug around in his pockets for cash. "So."

"So?" he echoed.

You gave him a pointed look. "You never called."

His hand froze for a fraction of a second before he let out a quiet, guilty laugh. "...Yeah."

"'Yeah?'"

"I know."

"I gave you my number and everything."

"I noticed."

"And then?"

"And then..." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking genuinely apologetic. "I had a really long night."

You raised an eyebrow. "That's the excuse we're going with?"

"No, that's the truth."

The teasing smile faded just enough that you immediately felt bad for pushing.

He looked down at the countertop, absentmindedly tracing one of the little scratches in the laminate with his thumb.

"One of my friends ended up in the hospital."

Your expression softened. "Oh."

"Some asshole fraternity hazing."

You didn't say anything.

"He got hurt pretty bad."

The words landed in your chest like a stone.

You'd spent all afternoon trying not to think about Gareth, trying to convince yourself that maybe the stories had been exaggerated through the campus rumor mill. Suddenly you weren't so sure.

Eddie exhaled through his nose. "I was there until like three in the morning."

"Is he okay?"

"He will be." His jaw tightened. "He's tough."

You nodded quietly. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged, but it wasn't convincing. "It sucks."

For a second, neither of you spoke. Then he shook himself out of it with a tired smile. "On the bright side, he's done with all that now."

"What do you mean?"

"He's dropping."

"Dropping?"

"The fraternity."

You nodded once. "Oh."

"He was only doing it because he thought that's what college was supposed to be."

"And now?"

Eddie smiled, though this one looked considerably more genuine. "Now he's transferring over to ours."

You blinked. "You have a fraternity?"

He looked almost offended. "I know. Shocking."

"I definitely didn't pin you for that type."

He laughed. "That's exactly what I said about your sorority."

"Touché."

"Ours isn't..." He searched for the right word. "One of the big campus ones."

"The terrifying Greek Row mansions?"

He nodded. "Yeah, definitely not that."

"So what is it?"

He shrugged. "A couple of guys living in a run-down house that desperately needs a new roof."

"Very prestigious."

"Extremely."

"I'm assuming there are matching sweaters."

"Oh, absolutely not."

"No little hand signs?"

"The only sign we’ll have is Gareth flipping everybody off when they make him do dishes."

You couldn't help laughing. "And people voluntarily join this organization?"

"Barely."

"What do you even do?"

He smiled. "Band practice in the basement. Movie nights. Cookouts when we can afford burgers instead of hot dogs. Other…stuff."

"So..."

"So?"

"It isn't really a fraternity."

His grin spread wider. "No."

"It sounds like a bunch of guys who accidentally signed a lease together."

"You’d be correct."

"I knew it."

He leaned against the counter, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "We've got a house, we've got letters on the front, we've got paperwork with the university."

"And?"

"And mostly we just look after each other."

Something about the way he said it made your heart ache. Your thoughts drifted back to Gareth, to whispered conversations and laughter echoing through the sorority house that afternoon.

Without thinking, you smiled softly. "I think I like yours better."

Then, with impeccable timing, the espresso machine behind you let out a deafening hiss that made both of you jump. You burst into laughter, and Eddie looked at the machine.

"I think it disagrees."

"I think it's jealous."

"Of me?"

"No."

"The hot dogs."

He looked deeply offended. "They're actually pretty good."

"I don't believe that for a second."

"Come over sometime and find out."

The words came out so naturally that neither of you acknowledged them for a beat. Then his eyes widened ever so slightly, as did your own.

He cleared his throat. "I mean..."

You smiled despite yourself. "I know what you meant."

The next week settled into something dangerously close to a routine.

Every morning at seven on the dot, the bell above the café door would jingle, and Eddie would stroll in with his curls still a little messy from sleep and some new band shirt you'd inevitably spend the next five minutes trying not to stare at.

Some mornings he'd stay for all of three minutes, grabbing his coffee before rushing off to class.

Other mornings he'd linger against the counter while you cleaned the espresso machine or restocked cups, making conversation about whatever happened to cross his mind.

Professors he couldn't stand, the guitar amp that had decided to die on him over the weekend, a stray cat that had apparently moved into the back porch of his fraternity house and now refused to leave.

You learned he always picked the marshmallows out of Lucky Charms first. He learned you read at the counter whenever business was slow. You discovered he couldn't pronounce the name of the French pastry on the menu to save his life and would instead point at it with complete confidence until you handed it over.

And every single morning, without fail, he'd greet you exactly the same.

"Mornin', sweetheart."

By Friday, you had unfortunately reached the point where hearing it from anybody else would probably feel wrong.

He still hadn't asked you on a date, and you still hadn't asked him. Neither of you seemed particularly interested in rushing whatever this was.

It was comfortable, easy. Enough so that you found yourself smiling whenever you looked up and saw him walking through the door.

Which was exactly why, hours later, sitting barefoot on one of the stools in the sorority kitchen with a mug of tea and a textbook open in front of you, the sharp ring of the landline nearly made you spill it.

The house phone almost never rang; everyone had cell phones. For a second, nobody moved.

Then one of the girls shouted from upstairs, "Can somebody get that?"

You sighed, slid off the stool, and wandered over. "Hello?"

Nothing, just soft static. You frowned. "...Hello?"

Then a man's voice, low and calm. "Madison there?"

You glanced toward the staircase. "Yeah. Hold on."

"Thanks."

Something about it felt...odd. Not threatening, just strange.

His voice was too even, too measured, almost like he was deliberately trying not to sound recognizable.

You covered the receiver with your hand. "Madison!"

A moment later she came clattering downstairs in fuzzy slippers and an oversized sweatshirt. "For me?"

"So he says."

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "If it's Tyler, tell him I'm busy."

You handed her the phone anyway. She tucked it between her shoulder and ear and wandered toward the hallway, disappearing around the corner.

You could still hear the occasional muffled sound of her voice, but not enough to make out words.

You returned to your tea. Barely thirty seconds passed.

Then, "What the fuck?"

Her voice echoed down the hallway. A moment later, Madison stormed back into the kitchen, looking thoroughly annoyed, hanging up the receiver hard enough that it rattled against the wall.

"What happened?" another girl asked from the doorway.

Madison crossed her arms. "Some creep."

"What creep?"

"I don't know."

She looked genuinely irritated. "He kept asking what I was wearing."

A chorus of disgust immediately followed. "Ew."

"What a freak."

"He knew my name."

One of the girls frowned. "Maybe it was Tyler messing with you."

"It wasn't Tyler."

"How do you know?"

"I know Tyler's voice."

Another girl leaned against the counter. "So what'd he say?"

Madison mimicked a deeper voice. "'What color shirt are you wearing, Madison?'" She rolled her eyes dramatically. "I told him to fuck off."

Someone laughed nervously. "Probably just some drunk guy."

"Probably."

Madison grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. "But seriously,” she shivered, "It was creepy."

The conversation moved on almost as quickly as it'd started. By the time everyone drifted back upstairs, the phone call had already become another funny little story to tell over drinks.

You looked over at the silent receiver still hanging on the kitchen wall. For reasons you couldn't explain, you couldn't shake the feeling that the voice on the other end hadn't sounded drunk at all.

If anything, it had sounded patient.

By ten-thirty, the house had emptied almost completely. Doors had slammed, music had drifted down the front steps, and the collective cloud of perfume and hairspray had finally dissipated enough for the place to feel like it could breathe again.

You'd declined the mixer without much thought. 

The excuse had been homework. The reality was that spending your Friday night curled up on the couch with tea and a book sounded infinitely more appealing than making awkward conversation with finance majors wearing pastel polos.

The old grandfather clock in the foyer chimed once, then silence settled back over the house. You turned another page before the landline rang. The sound made you jump hard enough to nearly drop your mug.

You glanced toward the hallway. Once. Twice. Three rings. With nobody else home, you finally stood and crossed the hardwood floor.

"Hello?"

A brief pause of staticky silence. Then, "Hi."

The same voice. Low, calm, almost pleasant. You frowned ever so slightly.

"...Hi."

"I was hoping somebody would answer."

"You've got somebody."

A quiet chuckle. "I guess I do."

You rested your shoulder against the wall. "Can I help you?"

"I was looking for Madison."

"They're all out."

"Oh." The disappointment sounded almost genuine. "When will they be back?"

You hesitated. "I'm... not really sure."

"That's okay." Another brief silence. "You stayed home?"

You blinked. "Yeah."

"Homework?"

"...Something like that."

"You don't seem like the mixer type."

A tiny smile tugged at your mouth despite yourself. "I guess not."

"You'd rather read."

Your smile vanished as you looked down at the paperback still sitting open on the couch.

"...Lucky guess."

"I suppose." His voice remained perfectly even. Comfortable, like talking to somebody over late-night radio.

"What're you reading?"

You glanced toward the cover. "'Rebecca.'"

"I've always liked that one."

"You've read it?"

"I've read lots of things."

"Hm."

"You sound surprised."

"A little."

"I disappoint you?"

"No."

You laughed softly. "I just wasn't expecting literary recommendations from mysterious men calling sorority houses."

Another quiet laugh. "Fair enough."

The conversation drifted for another minute. Movies. Coffee. The weather. Nothing strange, nothing threatening.

And yet something about it continued to make the hairs on your arms stand up. You couldn't have explained why.

Headlights suddenly swept across the front windows. Outside came the unmistakable sound of half a dozen girls talking over one another before the front door burst open.

Laughter. Music still playing from somebody's phone. Someone yelling that they'd lost a shoe.

You looked toward the foyer. "They're back."

"Already?"

"Looks like it."

The voice was quiet for a moment. Then, "Madison came home in the black heels, right?"

Your stomach tightened as you slowly turned toward the front windows. You couldn't see anyone outside. "...Yeah."

"The silver dress looked nice on her."

Your grip on the receiver tightened almost painfully. How...

The girls continued piling into the foyer, completely oblivious.

Madison stumbled in near the back of the group, kicking off exactly the pair of black heels he'd just described.

Your pulse began to climb, while the voice remained calm. "Could you hand her the phone?"

For one impossible second, you just stood there, your brain trying desperately to make sense of it.

Maybe he'd seen them leave. Maybe he'd driven by. Maybe...

Madison noticed you standing there. "For me?"

You looked from her... to the receiver in your hand... then nodded slowly. "I think so."

She rolled her eyes dramatically and took it. "Hello?"

You watched her expression change almost instantly; the smug annoyance disappeared. "What?"

Silence. Her face lost color. "No, that's not funny." Another pause. 

The room around her was still loud with drunken conversation, nobody paying much attention, but Madison wasn't listening to any of it anymore. Her fingers tightened around the receiver.

"Who is this?"

Silence. Then whatever was said next made her visibly stiffen. "No."

Another pause. "I said no." Her voice had become quieter. Not angry anymore, but scared. You took an unconscious step toward her.

Madison swallowed. "...How do you know that?"

Nothing. Her breathing changed, and the color drained completely from her face. "Stop it."

Another pause. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, "Please stop."

The laughter in the foyer had finally begun to die down as people were starting to notice. One of the girls frowned.

"Mads?"

Madison didn't answer. She was staring at the floor now, eyes wide and unfocused.

Then, without another word, she slowly lowered the receiver back onto its cradle and the line clicked dead.

Nobody spoke for several seconds. Finally, someone forced a laugh. "...Who was it?"

Madison didn't look up; her voice came out barely audible. "I..."

She swallowed hard. "I don't know."

Then she looked at you. Not annoyed, not embarrassed, but terrified. And for the first time since you'd met her, there wasn't a trace of arrogance left on her face.

Madison was still staring at the phone like it had personally offended her, one hand wrapped tightly around the edge of the kitchen counter.

Ashley was the first to break the silence. "...Madison?"

She didn't answer. "Madison, what did he say?"

Another girl laughed uneasily, the sound forced and far too loud. "Please don't tell me you actually got freaked out by some loser prank caller."

Madison slowly looked up. "He..." She swallowed. "He knew what I was wearing."

The room went quiet.

Ashley frowned. "What?"

"He described my dress."

Someone scoffed immediately. "He probably saw you leave."

"No." Madison shook her head. "He described it after I got home."

Another girl chimed in. "Maybe somebody from the mixer followed you guys back."

Madison wasn't listening anymore. "He knew I changed my shoes."

"What?"

"The heels."

Her breathing had become noticeably uneven. "He told me I came home in the black heels. The ones I kept in my purse to walk home in.”

A couple of girls exchanged uncertain looks. Still, nobody seemed genuinely concerned, until Madison spoke again.

"He asked me if I liked my room."

Your stomach sank. "What do you mean?"

Madison looked toward the staircase without realizing she'd done it. "He asked if I liked the poster over my bed. He asked if I still slept with my closet door open."

Nobody laughed this time. Madison's voice was barely audible now. "And then..."

She looked like she didn't even want to repeat it. "He said the window sticks when you try to close it all the way."

You felt every hair on the back of your neck stand up.

Madison suddenly lurched toward the front door, fumbling with the deadbolt before checking it once. Twice. Three times. Then she checked the handle anyway.

Ashley followed after her. "Madison—"

She was already moving toward the kitchen windows, yanking the curtains shut before checking those locks too. Then the back door. Then another window.

One of the girls nervously laughed. "Jesus Christ."

Madison ignored her completely. She was already halfway toward the foyer windows.

Ashley finally caught her wrist. "Hey."

Madison looked at her with genuinely panicked eyes. "What if somebody was watching us?"

Ashley glanced around at everyone else before lowering her voice. "Mads... think about it."

She didn't answer.

"The Pi Kap boys."

Madison frowned. "What?"

"They're messing with you."

Another girl immediately nodded. "Oh my God, obviously."

Ashley crossed her arms. "You dumped that drink on that guy tonight."

"So?"

"So now his buddies are probably trying to freak you out."

Someone else chimed in. "They probably had somebody parked outside the house."

"They know where you live."

"They've all been here for parties."

"And your room's literally been on your Instagram."

"They know what your room looks like."

"They know your outfits."

"They know what shoes you wear."

"They probably saw you come home."

The explanation settled over the room almost instantly; relief was contagious. Another girl laughed.

"Honestly? That's kind of a good prank."

Madison didn't laugh, but Ashley squeezed her shoulder. "It's just some pissed-off frat guys."

"They're trying to scare you because of it."

"They're assholes."

"But that's all it is."

For a long moment, Madison stood perfectly still. Then, slowly...

"...You think so?"

Ashley smiled. "I know so."

Another girl chimed in from the couch. "They're just trying to get in your head."

"And judging by this little performance..." She gestured vaguely toward the six different locks Madison had just checked. "...it's working."

A couple of people laughed again, tentatively this time. Madison finally managed a weak smile.

"Yeah."

Ashley nudged her toward the stairs. "Go to bed."

"I'm serious. Sleep it off. Tomorrow you'll realize it was some sophomore with too much time on his hands."

Eventually, Madison nodded and headed upstairs. The conversations slowly resumed. Music started playing from somebody's phone again.

Someone ordered late-night pizza. Within ten minutes, the atmosphere had almost completely recovered.

You lingered in the kitchen a little longer than everyone else, and your eyes drifted to the front window.

The curtains were drawn, and you couldn't see outside. For some reason...

You couldn't shake the feeling that someone might still be looking in anyway.

Sleep never really settled in after the phone call.

You'd drifted off eventually, more from exhaustion than anything else, but it wasn't restful.

Every creak of the old house seemed louder than usual, every shifting pipe enough to tug you halfway back to consciousness.

By the time you finally opened your eyes again, the room was dark enough that you had to squint to make out the red numbers glowing on your alarm clock.

2:43 a.m.

You let out a quiet sigh, pushed your blankets aside, and shuffled toward the door, still half asleep. The hallway was almost completely dark.

Only the tiny stained-glass lamp at the end of the corridor cast enough light to keep you from bumping into the walls, throwing patches of muted color across the hardwood floor.

You rubbed at your eyes and headed toward the bathroom as the floorboards creaked softly beneath your feet.

Halfway there, another one answered. Not yours.

You stopped. Silence.

You frowned, listening. Nothing, probably one of the girls getting water.

You took another cautious step. And suddenly a figure dressed entirely in black stepped out from the darkness at the opposite end of the hallway, and you froze.

Your brain didn't even have time to process what you were looking at.

A black hood. Long robe. The pale, impossibly familiar ghost mask catching just enough light to make the empty eyes seem alive. Every instinct in your body screamed.

The figure moved, fast.

A gloved hand shot toward you. You stumbled backward on pure instinct, your shoulder striking the wall as a strangled gasp caught in your throat before it could become a scream.

Then, another black-clad figure appeared seemingly out of nowhere. It caught the first one by the shoulder and shoved him sideways with surprising force.

Not enough to knock him over, but just enough to stop him.

The two stood there for the briefest second. The taller one turned his masked face toward the other and made one sharp, impatient motion with his hand.

Not at you, but past you, toward the end of the hallway. Toward Madison's room.

The second figure hesitated, and the first one pointed again, harder this time. Even through the costume, there was something unmistakably authoritative in the gesture.

The shorter figure looked back at you one last time before reluctantly turning away.

Without a word, he disappeared down the hall.

The taller figure lingered just long enough for his mask to turn toward you. You couldn't see his face. Couldn't see his eyes.

But for one impossible second, you had the overwhelming sensation that he was studying you.

Then he reached back and quietly pushed your bedroom door farther open behind you, almost expectantly. Your legs moved before your mind did, and you stumbled backward into your room.

The second your heel crossed the threshold, the masked figure swung the door shut behind them, leaving the two of you alone in your bedroom. 

The room suddenly felt impossibly small, illuminated only by the pale wash of moonlight slipping through the curtains.

Your pulse hammered so violently in your ears that it almost drowned out everything else, but not quite.

Downstairs, something crashed. A scream, another one, then running, then silence.

You stared at the figure standing only a few feet away from you, every instinct screaming at you to run, to fight, to do something, but your feet wouldn't cooperate.

The black robe barely moved as they shifted their weight. The knife in their hand remained pointed toward the floor.

Not raised, not threatening, but just... there.

You swallowed hard. "What... what do you want?"

The white mask stared back at you without expression. When the voice finally came, it wasn't a voice at all.

It crackled through an electronic distortion, flattened into something mechanical and impossible to place, every trace of age or identity stripped away.

"I'm sorry."

The words were so unexpected that they almost didn't register.

You blinked. "...What?"

Another scream echoed somewhere else in the house, farther away this time. The figure didn't so much as flinch.

"I'm sorry," the altered voice repeated quietly. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this."

Your hand found the edge of your desk behind you. "What are you talking about?"

Then the mask tilted ever so slightly. "You're the last one."

Your blood ran cold. "No..."

"You are."

"No."

"I'm sorry."

You shook your head before you even realized you were doing it. "No, they're all here. They're upstairs. They're—"

"They're gone."

The electronic filter couldn't hide the strange heaviness behind the words.

There was no laughter. No theatrical gloating. No excitement. Just something that sounded dangerously close to regret.

You stared at him, unable to breathe. "No..."

The figure remained perfectly still. "I didn't want you to find out this way."

Your voice came out barely above a whisper. "...Who are you?"

Silence. The only answer was another distant bang somewhere in the house, followed by complete stillness.

Your eyes filled before you could stop them.

"Please."

The masked figure lowered their head for just a second. "I can't."

"You know me."

Another silence. Then, softly, "Yeah."

The admission hit harder than any threat could have.

Your fingers tightened around the edge of the desk. "...Do I know you?"

The mask didn't move. The voice changer crackled faintly before the reply came.

"You do."

Every instinct begged you to ask another question. To demand a name. To make them pull the mask off. Instead, all that came out was a trembling—

"...Why me?"

The figure looked at you for what felt like an eternity. When they finally spoke, the words were almost gentle. "Because you were never supposed to be part of this."

The apology hung in the room between you. Outside, somewhere beyond your bedroom walls, the old house sat in perfect silence.

He stood perfectly still. The knife remained pointed toward the floor, hanging loosely from his gloved hand, as if he'd forgotten it was even there.

Your voice came out barely above a whisper. "...You keep saying you're sorry."

The mask tilted. "I am."

"Then why are you here?"

The distorted speaker crackled softly before he answered. "I don't know."

It wasn't the response you expected. "I thought I did."

Another pause.

"I had a plan."

He gave a quiet, humorless laugh that sounded even stranger through the electronic filter.

"A really good one."

Your fingers were still gripping the edge of your desk so tightly they hurt. "What plan?"

"You weren't supposed to matter."

The words were matter-of-fact, almost clinical.

"You were supposed to be..." He searched for the word. "Adjacent."

The mask turned toward your bookshelf. "Pretty girl."

Toward your desk. "Good grades."

Toward the discarded sorority sweatshirt hanging over your chair. "Legacy."

"I figured I'd have you all figured out in a week."

You couldn't bring yourself to respond. Instead, he continued talking almost to himself.

"But then you were kind. You let me walk away without paying."

Your stomach sank. Wait…

"You looked at me like there wasn't something wrong with me."

The voice changer hid his real voice, but not the strange sincerity underneath it.

"You laughed at my jokes."

"You remembered my order."

It can’t be…

"You started setting aside the blueberry muffins before I even asked."

Realization hit you like a freight train. 

Your mouth went dry. "I was just being nice."

"I know." Another quiet laugh. "That was the problem."

He took one slow step across the room. Not toward you, just... wandering.

Looking at your shelves, your records, the dog-eared paperbacks stacked on your dresser.

"I kept waiting."

"For what?"

"For you to disappoint me."

His head tilted slightly. "You never did."

Your pulse hammered painfully against your ribs.

"So then I started wondering if maybe I was wrong."

"About what?"

"About people."

The silence that followed felt heavier than anything he'd said so far.

"When Madison humiliated Gareth..." He stopped. "...you told her not to."

You stared. "...How do you know that?"

Another tiny crackle from the speaker. "I know lots of things."

"You sat in the corner pretending to read while everybody laughed."

"You left early."

"You looked guilty."

"You always look down when you're upset."

Your breathing became noticeably shallower.

He wasn't speaking like someone who'd watched you once; he was speaking like someone who'd watched you a hundred times. A thousand.

"You don't understand," he continued quietly. "I had everything figured out."

"The people who thought they could hurt whoever they wanted."

"The people who laughed."

"The people who'd never had anyone tell them no."

"They made sense."

"You..." Another soft laugh. "...you didn't."

You could hear your own heartbeat.

"So I started paying attention."

"You read in the park on Tuesdays."

"You always buy the same black pens because you hate blue ink."

"You leave the ends of your sandwiches."

"You hum when you mop the café floors."

You felt physically ill. He wasn't bragging; that was somehow the most terrifying part. He sounded fond, as if he were reminiscing.

"I kept telling myself I'd stop."

"I didn't."

"I kept telling myself you weren't real."

"I'd go home and think, she's pretending."

"Nobody's actually like that."

He looked directly at you. "And then you were."

Your eyes stung. "Please stop."

He ignored the plea. "I thought it would make this easier."

"This?"

"Killing you." The words landed with horrifying simplicity.

"I told myself if I watched long enough I'd find something."

"Something fake."

"Something ugly."

"Something selfish."

Another pause.

"I couldn't."

He lowered his head ever so slightly. "You were supposed to be easy."

His grip tightened almost imperceptibly around the knife at his side. "You were supposed to fit with the rest."

"You were supposed to laugh with them."

"You were supposed to become one of them."

"You weren't."

The electronic distortion crackled again. "And now you're making this so much harder than it was supposed to be."

You couldn't stop the tears now. "I don’t even know you that well.”

"No."

"But I know you." His head lifted again. "And that's the really unfair part."

Then, so quietly you almost didn't hear it, "I think if we'd met differently..."

The sentence never finished. Instead, he looked away, almost angry with himself for saying it at all.

When he spoke again, the softness was gone; only something fractured remained.

"I spent weeks trying to convince myself obsession isn't the same thing as caring." The mask turned back toward you. "I still don't know if I believe that."

He stood there in the moonlight, impossibly still. The voice changer hid his identity. The mask hid his face. But you knew who it was, mask on or not. Eddie. 

His name echoed in your mind, heavy and final, twisting something deep in your gut. You should have screamed. You should have lunged for the window, the phone, anything.

Instead, your body stayed rooted, trembling against the desk as the Ghostface figure, Eddie, some broken part of you already whispered—stood bathed in the thin moonlight slicing through your curtains.

He took another slow step.

The knife still dangled from his gloved fingers like an afterthought, but his head tilted with that unnerving curiosity, like he was memorizing the way your chest heaved with every shallow breath.

"You keep saying you're sorry," you whispered again, voice cracking.

"I am." The distortion made it sound almost gentle. "But I can't stop now. Not when you're looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you see me." He was closer now.

Close enough that the black fabric of his robe brushed your bare knee where your sleep shorts had ridden up. "Like maybe you could want this too. Even if you shouldn't."

Your pulse roared in your ears. Fear coiled tight in your stomach, but underneath it—god, underneath it—something hotter flickered.

The way he'd watched you. The way he knew you. The confession of weeks, months, of him orbiting your life like a shadow you never noticed.

It should have repulsed you. It did. But it also made your skin prickle, your thighs press together without thinking.

"I don't—" The lie died on your tongue as his free hand rose, gloved fingers ghosting along your jaw.

Not gripping, not yet. Just tracing, reverent, like you were something sacred he was about to defile.

"You do," he murmured, echoing his earlier words. The knife lifted slowly, the flat of the blade pressing cool against the side of your neck. Not cutting. Just resting there, a promise.

Your breath hitched sharply. 

"I can see it. That little shake in your voice. The way your nipples are hard under that shirt even though you're scared shitless."

A low, distorted chuckle. "Pretty girl... always so fucking kind. Always pretending you don't feel it."

He stepped fully into your space, the mask inches from your face.

You could smell him—faint leather, weed, that metallic tang of whatever madness drove him. His body heat bled through the robe, solid and real against you.

"Tell me to leave," he said suddenly, voice dropping. The knife traced lower, down your collarbone, catching on the thin strap of your tank top. "Say it. Say 'get out,' and I'll try. I'll really fucking try."

Your lips parted, but no sound came. His gloved thumb brushed your bottom lip, pressing just enough to part them further.

"That's what I thought." The knife slipped under the strap and flicked; sharp, precise. The fabric gave way with a whisper. 

Cool air hit your skin as one breast spilled free. He groaned, the sound raw even through the mask. "Fuck... look at you."

You gasped as his hand cupped you roughly, thumb circling your nipple in a way that made your back arch despite yourself. Terror and heat twisted together, impossible to separate. "Please..."

"Please what?" He leaned in, the mask's nose brushing your cheek. The knife dragged lightly down your sternum, not breaking skin, just teasing the panic that made you clench. 

"Please stop? Or please keep going? Be honest, sweetheart. I've watched you long enough to know when you're lying."

His other hand slid down your body, shoving between your thighs without warning. Two thick fingers pressed against the damp seam of your shorts, rubbing slow and firm.

You whimpered, hips jerking forward involuntarily. Shame burned your face even as slick heat flooded you.

"See?" That fractured laugh again. "You're soaking for the monster who came to kill you. My sweet, perfect girl... always surprising me."

He pushed you back onto the desk with sudden force, scattering papers and pens. The knife clattered beside you as he used both hands to yank your shorts down your legs, leaving you bare from the waist down. 

You tried to close your thighs; he forced them open wider, dropping to his knees between them like a man at prayer.

The mask stayed on (of course it did). But you felt his breath hot through the fabric as he leaned in, inhaling you like a drug. It lifted slightly, not enough to see his face, but enough to assist him.

"Been dreaming about this," he rasped. His tongue, warm, real, and eager, dragged up your slit in one long, filthy stroke.

You cried out, fingers scrambling for purchase on the desk. He didn't tease; he devoured. Licking and sucking at your clit with desperate hunger, his now un-gloved hands pinning your thighs apart as you squirmed and moaned.

Every flick of his tongue pulled another broken sound from you. Fear made everything sharper—the edge of the knife still within reach, the threat of who he was—but the pleasure was drowning it, wave after wave as he ate you like a man starved. Like he'd been waiting lifetimes for the taste of you.

"That's it," he growled against your cunt, voice rough and filthy. "Ride my face, baby. Use me. I killed for less. I'd die for this."

Your hands tangled in the hood of his robe, pulling him closer despite everything. Your hips rolled, chasing the building pressure.

He moaned into you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. One finger pushed inside you, then two, curling just right while his mouth worked your clit without mercy.

You came hard, thighs shaking around his masked head, a sob tearing from your throat as pleasure crashed through the terror. He didn't stop. He licked you through it, gentler now, almost worshipful, until you were twitching and oversensitive.

When he finally rose, he towered over you, unzipping the robe with one hand while the other picked up the knife again. His cock sprang free, heavy, flushed, already leaking.

He fisted himself slowly, stroking as he looked down at you spread out and ruined on your desk.

"Still scared?" he asked, almost tenderly.

The tip of the knife traced your inner thigh, leaving faint red lines that didn't quite break skin.

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks even as your pussy fluttered around nothing, aching for more.

"Good." He stepped between your legs, rubbing his cock through your folds. "Because I'm not done with you. Not even close."

He pushed in with one slow, relentless thrust, stretching you open around his thickness. The mask hovered above you as he bottomed out, a broken groan leaving his mouth.

"Fuck... so tight. So fucking good." He started moving, deep and punishing, one hand braced beside your head with the knife still clutched tight. "You're mine now. Say it."

You gasped with every thrust, the desk creaking beneath you. "I’m yours—"

"Louder." His hips snapped harder, dragging perfectly inside you. "Tell the man who you’re scared of that you're dripping for his cock anyway."

"I'm yours," you moaned louder, legs wrapping around his waist despite the fear still clawing at your chest.

The blade pressed to your throat again as he fucked you harder, the danger and the pleasure twisting into something addictive, something insane.

He laughed wild and unhinged, something almost Eddie, and leaned down until the mask was pressed to your ear.

"Good girl. Now cum on my cock while I decide if I'm still gonna kill you after... or if I'm keeping you forever."

The choice, you realized through the haze of overwhelming sensation, had never really been yours to begin with.

And some shattered part of you didn't want it to be.

....part 2? or am i crazy? ._.

anywayssss, hope you all enjoyed pookies!

taglist:

@bitterestwillow @lnnn1n @youngbrokefab @ludachrissy @sisteramycatherine @izzycstairs @britttzy267 @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch @sariahs-stuff @cciessuzi @lilyquinnmunson @julxsxx @kozume-ko @obsessed-eddie @doomdabss @leelei1980 @hexqueensupreme @ches-86 @plaidamoosette @bobiverses @meadows-of-asphodel @whitakerstorm @brrrainst3w @serendipdipity01 @hypersexytoptobottom @m-art000 @walleloveseve @camsmunson101 @flavorfullsteve @peachpuffs25 @micheledawn1975 @whitakerstorm @cciessuzi @blackqueenie-18 @ggdawgg @velvetdimond @enne02  @ludachrissy @izzycstairs

@abbysleftbicepp @britttzy267 @ssculker @eddiemunsonsimpp @powerpuffedbjtch @kylorensbaby

Even before the first dial tone rang out, regret crept upon Jud. This was a mistake.

Not only was he about to breach his vow of celibacy (again) but now he also involved a stranger in his sin. Nervously, he fiddled with the hem of the white bedspread. Jud sat fully clothed in the small chamber that he had been assigned after his arrival in Albany, only the warm light of a single night lamp tracing the outlines of the room. No matter how minor the offense seemed compared to a physical sexual encounter, and no matter how much he longed for that kind of human contact, this clearly crossed all lines. He lowered the phone, about to hang up, when the ringing abruptly ended and a gentle voice responded.

“Hello?”

Jude almost choked on his own heartbeat. Instinctively, he answered.

“Yes! Uh...Hello. I, erm -” He cleared his throat, arranged the words in his mouth before speaking them. “I'm calling about the ad on your website, but I've reconsidered and no longer need...your services.”

“Oh, that's a shame,” you said. “Could you possibly tell me what changed your mind, if that's not uncomfortable for you to share?“

The simple design of the website had indicated a rather professional company. No erotic photos of women in compromising poses or ambiguous wording, just the elegantly curved font announcing that you would find the perfect voice for every fantasy here. Jud hadn't been sure what to expect, but certainly not this. Your composure took him aback so much that he just replied honestly.

“Well, I'm a priest, so - you know…”

You laughed a little. The sound made him flinch.

“Now I understand,” you said. “It's because of the alias I work under, isn't it? Lilith.”

Lilith. Of all the phone sex workers in this country, he had to wind up with one that used a pointedly biblical name. Jud couldn‘t recall seeing a stage name or a list of performers, only a number you were supposed to call to be transferred to the right person. But he ended up with Lilith. It seemed like a divine warning to him, or at least bitter irony. A sign to hang up immediately.

When he didn't respond, you continued:

“That initially deters some devout clients, especially clerics, from engaging me. But their concerns usually subside once they talk to me personally and get a sample of my work. Regardless of their beliefs, I try to create a comfortable environment for all my clients during our collaboration.”

“Some of your clients are clergy?,” he asked, once again drawn in by your casual manner of speaking, allowing this strange encounter to continue unnecessarily. Jud wrinkled his brow. How could a collaboration respect a person’s faith when its goal was to infringe upon one of its disciplines?

“It has actually become my main source of income, although I never planned it that way,” you replied. “So there's no need to be nervous, you're in safe hands.”

By the sound of your voice, he could tell you were smiling. Something about the way you said it reminded Jud of how he spoke to congregants when they sought his guidance. A kind of recognition, a shared understanding filled him. He believed you. The tension in his chest eased a little. Nevertheless:

“I'm sure you're very professional, but I regret calling at all. This...This just isn't right,” he said.

“Hmm, if you tell me what your concerns are, maybe I can address them directly?”

Jud shifted his weight, the narrow bed beneath him groaning disapprovingly.

“I had no intention of using your services at first,” Jud began hesitantly.

Even before you had taken the call, the moment of temptation had passed, but something must have driven him here in the first place. Surprisingly, you had managed to steady him in this moment of weakness. Perhaps it was a good thing that he ended up with you of all people today. Who was to say that another priest could advise him better in his situation, understand his desire for intimacy more than a sex worker? Maybe it was worth a try.

“I haven't been a priest that long yet,” he explained. “In a previous life, I was a boxer and lived on the streets for a while.”

“Holy shit - Sorry! Sorry. I didn't expect that. The transition must have been quite challenging.”

A small smile crossed Jud's face.

“Yes, it is,” he admitted. “Some things are easier to get used to than others. I love what I do for the people, it fuels me, makes me who I am. But I also struggle with myself sometimes, have to convince myself that some things no longer belong in my life.” He hesitated briefly, his words faltering. “Like...intimacy with another person. Sexuality in general, you know?”

“Are you talking about...celibacy?” Your voice suddenly sounded stiffer, slower, as if you couldn't quite follow him. The warmth was still there, but it wasn't radiating as strongly anymore.

“Yes, I assumed that your other clients from clergy seek out this service for similar reasons. It’s not just that you miss, um, the act itself, it’s also about the connection with another person.“

There was dead silence on the other end of the line. His hands began to sweat. Had he said something wrong?

“Wait a minute - what kind of service are you looking for exactly?”

An uneasy feeling rose in the pit of his stomach, just like in training, right before he had to step into the ring.

“Well, I think the website said something about voices for every fantasy...or, uh, something like that.”

Another beat of silence. Then:

“Are you talking about phone sex?”

Phone sex. Hearing the term so plainly and bluntly from someone else’s mouth felt like the cold shower Jud needed. The accumulated weight of regret he had felt briefly at the beginning came rushing back, hitting him like a cold wave.

“Well, erm...yes? I - I think so,” he stammered. “I stumbled across your website, but it was a stupid idea and that’s why I didn’t want to…ah. Yes.”

You paused for a moment. The quiet stretched on for an eternity. Then, finally, you said:

“The only thing you’ll find on my website are photos of stained glass windows.”

Jud didn't understand, your words came through to him over the phone, but they formed no sense in his mind.

“I'm an artist, not a sex worker. When you mentioned an ad, I thought you wanted to place an order for a restoration or redesign of windows, like other churches,” you explained calmly.

Artist. Not sex worker. Slowly, the realization sunk in. And to Jud's horror, you confirmed exactly what he had just figured out.

“I think you have the wrong num -“

He hung up before you could finish the sentence.

In the following days, Jud Duplenticy experienced what was essentially a hell on earth designed specifically for him. The confession did not lighten his conscience by even the weight of a single feather. Not only did he have to confess his impure thoughts, he also had to explain the misunderstanding and relive it all over again. He knew that Bishop Langstrom did not condemn him (which was why he had asked him to take his confession), but the smirk that his Excellency suppressed after they had finished their conversation didn't escape Jud‘s notice. Again and again, he picked up his phone, ready to tap your number in his call list to apologize, and each time he lost the courage to do so, sinking into a new spiral of shame.

It was only about a week later that Jud managed to find a moment of peace. He had offered his help in tending the gardens during his lunch break. In a secluded part of the grounds, he dug through the damp earth, weeding the flower beds. The midday sun warmed his skin below the rolled-up shirt sleeves, fresh air and silence soothed his soul. Unfortunately, the latter did not last long, as a mechanical ringing sounded through the garden, shattering the idyll.

“Hello?”

Jud's voice came through muffled from the phone he'd wedged between his shoulder and head, pulling off one gardening glove, the other still between his teeth, which he'd taken off to answer the call.

“Hi, it's me,” you said on the other end. When Jud didn't react, you added: “The artist slash presumed sex worker.”

With a soft plop, the glove fell from Jud's open mouth into the flower bed. He managed a weak greeting in response to yours, but then fell silent immediately. Now he severely regretted not having found the guts to reach out to you when he had a rehearsed apology ready. This call caught him completely off guard.

"I've been thinking about our conversation the other night for a few days now and came to the conclusion that, in true priestly fashion, you're probably beating yourself up over this silly mix-up. So I've decided to offer you the only way out I can: I forgive you."

Jud had expected just about anything: anger, accusations, questions, laughter. Unsolicited forgiveness had not been part of the scenarios his guilt-ridden brain had come up with in great detail.

“Why?” he asked.

“I'm no expert, but forgiveness is one of the virtues taught by the Church, isn't it? Besides, I wasn't offended. Looking back, I find it quite funny, to be honest.”

“Well, I couldn't really laugh about it.”

“A priest trying to hire a woman named Lilith for an erotic encounter, come on! That sounds like the beginning of a bad joke that people crack after three beers at the local bar.“

You laughed and the sound spread through Jud like the warmth of the sun, from the roots of his hair to his toes. He couldn't suppress a small smile.

“Thanks,” he said.

“It was easy,” you replied, now more serious again, “You seemed like you just needed someone to talk to, to be honest. If you want…”

You left the end of the sentence hanging in the air, a sincere offer.

“Oh, no! That's very kind, but I um...no,” Jud declined, even though a small part of him wanted to accept. The part of his soul whose desire for honesty was stronger than his sense of embarrassment.

“Okay.”

You paused. Jud's fingers rubbed nervously over the leather of his gloves. He was unsure how to end this call. Or whether he even really wanted to.

“Can I ask you a question?” you asked, resolving the matter for him.

Jud straightened up, reverting to his natural demeanor as a priest. Always ready to help, to serve.

“Of course.”

“What makes a boxer follow the path to priesthood?”

Over the next few months something strange happened, even weirder than the mix-up and the forgiveness that followed: somehow, against all odds, you became friends.

After Jud had answered some of your questions in the garden - his life story had undoubtedly piqued your interest - he called you again a few days later. It bothered him that he never formally apologized to you, he claimed, and another conversation ensued. After that, you called him one evening requesting further explanation of some Bible passages that a client wanted to see incorporated into a piece. Although you were accepting more and more commissions for churches, your own relationship with faith remained complicated, which was why you valued a second opinion.

A quick google search led Jud later to your website (the right one this time) and he studied the photos of your artwork in detail. A selection of beautiful stained-glass windows that you had designed or restored for various churches and some other buildings, as well as private customers. He liked how you used color to create mood and the symbolism (whether colors or individual elements) that you skillfully employed; sometimes subtle, sometimes provocative. He hovered the cursor over a tab labeled about me for a while before clicking on it. Relief washed over him when no headshot appeared next to your biography. He didn’t want to know what you looked like. Or rather, he did want to know, and that was precisely where the cross was buried.

Your friendship rested on two simple principles: anonymity and honesty. Since you had been brought together by chance (your version) or divine providence (Jud's version), but only communicated over calls, you never met in real life. Neither of you would recognize the other even if you were standing right in front of each other, giving you the comfort of talking freely. It was easy opening up to someone when you didn't have to look them in the eye, and each of you had qualities that further enhanced this ease. You liked Jud's empathetic nature, how he remained true to his beliefs in forgiveness and love no matter what, his warmth. He liked your wit and open mind, the curiosity driving you to explore the world and people around you without prejudice.

In his brief search to satisfy a certain need, Jud had instead found a loyal friend. However, the harmlessness of this relationship, which he had ascribed it due to the impossibility of ever getting physically close to you, lulled him into a false sense of security. It clouded his perception, made him believe in its innocence, even though he awaited your calls with increasing anticipation and worried about you disproportionately often. The longer he talked to you, the more he nurtured an affection for you that shouldn't grow any further if he didn't want to risk stoking the fire he tried to extinguish.

This dilemma reached its climax on a seemingly random Tuesday evening.

Jud sat on his bed, bathed in the dim light of the meager bedside lamp. For the past hour, he had drunk chamomile tea, read a few pages of a book, and closed it again after five minutes. He had done some breathing exercises, stretched, prayed the rosary a second time, flipped through a church magazine without even registering what he was looking at, and then rearranged and cleaned his entire room. None of these activities showed the desired effect. His thoughts circled incessantly, he was both tired and restless, and yes, that was the biggest problem, also a little bit turned on.

He reached for his phone on the bedside table, read the displayed time, and sighed. It was a stupid idea. You were probably already asleep and there was no guarantee that talking to you would take his mind elsewhere.

His fingertips drummed on the black plastic.

Then he unlocked the display again and tapped on your number at the top of the recent calls list.

It took a while for you to pick up, much longer than usual.

“Jud?”

Your voice sounded distant, a little husky and somehow... a bit out of breath?

“Hello! Hi. Do you have a moment?”

“Well... I, um -” You cleared your throat. There was muffled rustling in the background. “I guess?“

Jud frowned. Something was wrong. You normally had no trouble finding words, always the direct one out of you two. Sometimes a little too direct, even though he liked that about you. On the other hand, was there anything he didn't like about you?

“Is everything okay?” he asked concerned.

“Oh, yes! I was just, um...lying in bed.”

The guilt set in immediately. Of course you were lying in bed, he shouldn’t have called you so late in the evening.

“Oh! I’m so sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No, no! I was just... well, I - um... actually, uh.” You stopped, exhaling sharply through your nose, annoyed with yourself. Then you took a deep breath and whispered quietly but clearly, this time without stuttering:

“Actually, I was just masturbating.”

Your statement reached Jud's ears, but it took him a moment to comprehend what you had just revealed to him. It wasn't unusual for people to share details about their sex lives with him during confession. But this wasn't confession and he wasn't your priest.

“Oh. OH. Sorry, should I - um - should I hang up?”

Jud ran his hand over his face and pinched his eyes shut. So much for the idea that talking to you would distract him. Involuntarily, an image rose in his mind of unfamiliar hands digging into a sheet, caressing naked skin. The husky tone in your voice - did it always sound like that when you touched yourself? He banged the back of his head against the headboard, a futile attempt to knock these indecent thoughts out of him.

“It's okay,” you said, a slight smile on your lips, back to your usual temperament. “To be honest, it reminds me a bit of how we met, only with reversed roles in a way.“

“Please don't remind me, I have no idea what came over me that evening,” he groaned, his eyes still covered. The mixture of desire and shame that had risen within him now shifted almost entirely to shame.

“Oh for sure! You were so nervous and completely clueless.”

Your giggle echoed through the line. The sound loosened the knot in his throat a little, enough that he dared to open his eyes again.

„Hey, you can't blame me for that! I mean, how is something like that even supposed work?"

“Well, you can give each other instructions on what to do,” you answered his question, although it was meant to be rhetorical, “but you can also just listen and let the other person describe what they’re doing to themselves.”

The last sentence lingered suggestive in the air. Your playful tone had given way to tense silence. Nervously, Jud listened to the static crackling on the other end, letting your words resonate within him. Describing what you did to yourself, turning the other person into an uninvolved, almost innocent audience. Sharing your own pleasure without the other person having to break any disciplines. He swallowed hard, heat creeping up his neck.

“So, like you describing to me what you were doing before I called,” he murmured.

“Yes,” you said. Your voice now soft - not shy, but rather full of anticipation.

A test, it struck him.

This is a test, and the only right thing to do now would be to say goodbye and hang up. He had to put an end to this temptation before he crossed a line that could not be undone. Something that would not only weighed on his faith, but could also sever your delicately woven bond of friendship. He had to hang up.

Instead, he heard himself whisper:

“For example?”

His heart raced so fast he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. A thick silence settled over the room, pressing down on his lungs. No air to breathe, only your voice keeping him alive.

“For example,” you began, barely a whisper, “I took off everything except my underwear and T-shirt, slipped under the covers...” You paused briefly, unsure whether you should continue, if you were allowed to continue. When he didn't dissuade you, you proceeded: “Let my hands wander over my body.”

“Where?” he murmured.

The question left his mind as easily as a raindrop falling. Gravity, attraction. Simply Unstoppable.

“My neck... my breasts - hmm, my stomach. Moving lower -”

Your voice trailed off. Jud imagined fingers gliding over your bare body, lower and lower until -

“Jud... I -” you mumbled. Your voice trembled slightly, your breathing quickened.

“Don’t stop.”

The plea just slipped out. He waited in awe for your heavy breathing, the moan you tried to suppress as you slid your fingers under the waistband of your panties.

“Keep going,” he begged. “Please.”

Jud closed his eyes, concentrating on the lustful sounds coming from you, pressing the phone against his ear as close as possible to not miss a single one of your sighs.

It was obscene, it was human, it was breathtaking.

You gave yourself fully to your desire while Jud listened. Sounds of pleasure, gasps and quiet moans, shaky breathing poured through the phone. He breathed harder, in harmony with you, but unlike you, he fought the urge to touch himself. If he broke his celibacy now, he would have to make a confession tomorrow and this intimate moment between you would be destroyed. He wanted to be a part of your pleasure, hear you moan as you tipped over the edge, and seal this sound away inside him forever.

You grew louder, your breathing hastened, until you reached your climax with a tembling oh god. A shattering sound that washed over him like a powerful wave, knocking him off his feet and spitting him out again. Sweat dampened Jud‘s clerical collar without him having lifted a single finger.

The very next morning, less than five hours later, he went to confession. Jud omitted the part of the story where a phone call with you had escalated into a voyeuristic-erotic experience and told the priest in the confessional a version in which he had been tempted and given in to unchaste thoughts. The man granted him absolution, comforted him by saying that all clergymen struggled with such thoughts and needs from time to time, congratulated him for his fortitude in not going further, and advised him to focus on his calling. Which Jud did.

Unfortunately, when he ignored your calls, he could neither lie to God nor to himself that he was doing so for a noble reason. The truth was simple: he was scared. Dealing with the guilt of struggling to keep his vow of chastity was something he had to work out between himself and God. But the fact that he had broken the innocence of your friendship by using you for his desires weighed heavy on him. He knew he had to fix the situation, but it took him a few days to gather the courage he needed.

This time he called you first. Jud had prepared the words beforehand and sought refuge in the most secluded part of the garden, the place he felt safest beyond the walls of his room (which stirred up too many memories of you). Sheltered beneath the green of trees, he felt liberated and, above all, unobserved enough to openly address this delicate matter.

The first dial tone hadn't even faded before you picked up.

The next few minutes were a jumble of apologies, clarifications, and forgiveness. Clear words alternated with guilty stutters and relieved, albeit still timid, laughter. Nothing had changed regarding your friendship; you didn't consider him a perverted priest and he didn't accuse you of seducing him into sin. None of your fears turned into bitter reality. The clear air and relief of his conscience towards you made Jud a little light-headed. The two of you joked that the purpose of your first encounter had been fulfilled after all, just differently than expected.

“That was by far the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” you muttered, your tone not entirely convincing.

“Yes, so dumb,” Jud echoed.

The leaves above him rustled, raindrops began to fall on the small awning above him, but he hardly noticed. In his mind, scenes from that very night played out, one that would never be repeated. A stupid fantasy, indeed. You, completely vulnerable and eager to open yourself up to him, to make him the sole audience for your desire, touching yourself and - suddenly, his mouth felt dry, his pants a little tighter. The rising wind offered no relief from the heat growing within him.

“Jud?”

When you started speaking again, your voice was rough and quiet, carefully testing the waters.

“Yes?”

“Do you want to...do it again?”

It was embarrassing how quickly the pleading yes escaped his lips.

Going forward, two things changed. Firstly, Jud went to confession more often than before. Not so often that it was noteworthy, but often enough that a small portion of shame and guilt almost became part of his priest's robe. Secondly, he stopped ignoring your calls on days that followed erotically charged conversations.

You were still friends who confided in each other about all the major and minor aspects of your lives. You still shared stories, reflected on your problems together, analyzed doubts and dreams, laughed over silly jokes, and recommended music, books, or movies to each other. Sometimes, however, Jud just listened to you touching yourself. The only moments when he felt this kind of intimate connection without breaking his vow of celibacy in a physical way. It was pure martyrdom, pure indulgence. Surprisingly, apart from the vow, nothing about it felt like the sinful seduction, which one might ascribe to the arrangement when viewed from an outsider's perspective. You were simply two people sharing every aspect of their lives, including their sexuality. Natural. Human.

But one evening, Jud pushed it too far.

He probably shouldn't have answered your call in the first place. Last week, you mentioned in passing that a friend had given you some expensive black lingerie, an attempt to bribe you into accompanying her to a new bar in the neighboring town. According to her, the amount of time you spent working on your current project in a church had apparently led you to believe that you, too, had to remain celibate. The thought of you, dressed in sexy lingerie (temptation), flirting with a stranger (anger) kept Jud's mind spinning and his emotions in turmoil.

Your phone call had actually started quite harmless, you spoke about your difficulties with the project in question and the conflicts within the church administration regarding your artistic vision. But one topic led to another and you ended up talking about former relationships, which, to your surprise, Jud had a few of. Perhaps it was less a surprise and more envy. Jealousy towards the people he had freely given himself to when that opportunity still existed.

“I'm sure you had no shortage of suitors, but phone sex was obviously not part of the package,” you teased him, alluding to how you met, in order to distract yourself from this nagging feeling.

“Not really,” Jud replied. “One of my exes wanted to try it once, but I was terrible. How do you start a conversation like that without sounding unnatural or creepy?

He grimaced at the memory.

“Well, a safe bet would be to start by asking what the other person is wearing,” you answered his question much more honestly than you intended. When you realized in what risky direction you had steered the conversation, you added: “But that would be a waste of time with you. I bet you’re lying in bed wearing full black priest’s getup again.”

Jud glanced down at himself. Black socks. Black trousers. Black button-down. His belt (also black) rested on the nightstand, and the sleeves of his shirt were casually rolled up. Bull's-eye. Only the white clerical collar stood out.

“Well then, what are you wearing?”

Before Jud noticed what his question implied - that he had basically hit on you with a standard opening line for phone sex - it was already too late. Nervous, he chewed on his bottom lip.

“Coincidentally, the perfect outfit for an erotic phone call,” you said a little more hushed. “I'm getting changed right now and am basically just in underwear.“

A single question lit up in his mind. But he couldn't possibly ask that. He had to say something else, anything else, a harmless compliment or a distraction, just not the question that was most pressing on his tongue right now.

“What color?” he whispered.

“Black.”

Black. Of all things. The expensive underwear you were supposed to wear when you met other men at your local bar (with a devil theme, how ironic), flirting with them, maybe even taking them home with you. But you didn't wear it for other people. You wore it while calling him. Was it so wrong of Jud to get carried away for a moment and believe you were wearing it for him?

A slight pause, then your voice, with a hint of promise and vulnerability, capturing his full attention: “Jud, what do you want me to do?”

A million possibilities rushed through his mind. I want you to get dressed and make some tea so we can end this day on a calm note. I want you to hang up and go out with your friends instead of spending your Saturday night on the phone with a priest. I want you to stop telling me all these things about your life that make me want to be a part of it. I want to stop thinking about you all the time. That's what he should have said.

But that would have been a lie and priests don't lie.

“I want you to take it off,” he murmured.

The events flowed into each other like the unstoppable waves of the sea, following their natural rhythm. Jud couldn't say exactly how it had come about, all he could hear now was your voice clouded with lust. Today you appeared more agitated than usual, repeatedly pushing yourself to the edge only to stop or slow down again. You had already come once and felt more sensitive than before, but that hadn’t satisfied you yet. It was the sweetest torture for Jud. His arousal was almost painful, his trousers uncomfortably tight.

“Oh god, I'm so wet,” you moaned into his ear, earning a stifled groan from him.

He needed relief, however small, or he would give in. With trembling fingers, he pushed up his shirt a little and unbuttoned his trousers, making room for his arousal. His knuckles accidentally brushed against it, a feather-light touch that, against the backdrop of your heavy breathing, sent a shiver through him.

“It feels so - so good,“ you mumbled.

Yes, it did. It had been ages since anyone had touched him like that, since he had touched himself that way. When he closed his eyes, he could imagine your hand teasing his skin. Before Jud managed to gather his thoughts again, his hand reached down, gliding up a single long stroke. Pure pleasure shot through him. A low groan he had held for far to long poured from the back of his throat. Your reaction followed immediately, your breathing quickened, having picked up the pace, whimpering and begging for release. Hearing how his own arousal stirred you felt overwhelming. When you moaned his name, something you had never dared before as it felt too intimate, all restraint was lost.

He was at your mercy, body and soul.

The last remnants of control Jud believed himself capable of exercising vanished. Hearing his name on your lips this way fundamentally rewired his brain. The hand he imagined was yours slid over his length, sweat dripped down his neck, trickling over his tattoo. Fueled by each other's sounds, you pushed each other further, getting closer to heaven. There was only the touch, the heat, the breathy moans of the other. It felt so good that Jud swore he could see stars. His brows were furrowed in concentration, he was so close to reaching fulfillment already that he could almost taste it.

Just a little more. A single touch from you. Please.

“I want you so much,“ he blurted out.

Your answer was a rambled mess of affirming words and some profanity. Your breathing quickened, Jud knew you were just as close as he. But then you managed to utter a husky, barely audible sentence:

“You have me.”

That was all it took to push him over the edge. A jolt shot through his body and twitching, whining, he spilled over himself. Your climax poured out of the phone shortly after, a divine sound leaving Jud temporarily in a cloud of pure bliss before abruptly pulling him back to reality. His pulse pounded in his ears, his breathing still somewhat irregular, attempting to calm itself. Slowly yet uncomfortably quickly, Jud realized what had just happened.

He had sex with you.

Not in the conventional way, he hadn't been anywhere near you physically. But you had felt sexual desire for the other, turned each other on and brought each other to climax. You had called out his name and he - he had admitted wanting you. He wanted to sleep with you and if you had been there in the same room at that moment, by God, he would have done it.

The revelation hit him like an uppercut, with brutal force: it had never been just about friendship or desire.

It was about you.

The real danger didn't lie in seeing you, in fantasies of physical intimacy, against which he thought himself safe due to the harmless nature of a phone call. Far more disastrous was the bond formed between your souls, an attachment he should have severed from the very first moment. Selfishly, he had repeatedly found excuses to maintain - no - to strengthen a relationship that would forever remain beyond reality.

And at that moment, he understood that this was precisely why he had to end it. In his heart, he believed God would never punish him for a feeling of true affection, that his love was enough for both his mission to serve God, the world, and you. However, he also recognized the commitment he had made to God and the Church, accepting principles that conflicted with his desire of loving freely. He was accountable not only to Christ, but to the Church as an institution, and even if He approved of this connection, it would still be impossible in the eyes of the later. A game of hide-and-seek for a relationship that only took place over the phone - neither he nor you deserved that. Delaying the inevitable end of this relationship would just be unfair to you.

This time it felt like a punch in the gut. He had to hurt you in order to protect you from longer suffering, but you would feel used, without him being able to soothe that pain. The thought was agonizing.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

“Jud?” Your voice reached him only faintly. “Are you okay?”

“I, um - I'm so sorry, but I have to go. Sleep well, okay?”

You took a breath, about to reply, but he hung up.

Coward.

The next morning, Jud's fist struck the Deacon's face.

The gossip indicated at least some agreement that this confrontation had been in the making for a long time; everyone knew that Deacon Clark was a prick, but Jud knew his reaction would have been not as drastic on any other day. Before entering the gym, where he was about to give his statement on the incident, he sent you a text message. It was quite detailed and well written: warm tone, understanding, explaining the difficulty of the situation without resorting to blame or clichés, rounded off with honest wishes for your happy future. Yet the essence could be reduced to a single sentence: Whatever we had is over.

When Bishop Langstrom informed him of the committee's decision, it seemed like a sign. The task Jud was given, the relocation - as if God was telling him to take a new path and lay the past to rest. He should devote himself to his work, refocus on the calling he had taken the priesthood for. Not question some rules attached to the title and long for an unattainable bond.

As it turned out, Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude had some trials of her own in store for him, and Jud faced them even more eagerly in light of his recent failings. He wasn't going to stray from his path again. With shame, he thought of this good intention as he stood in front of shattered glass from the window he'd smashed the previous night after getting pretty toasty.

“Rowdy teenagers, riots,” Martha grumbled as she swept the shards into a bucket.

“Should we, um, call someone about the repair?"

Guilty, Jud scratched his dark curls.

“With Easter so close, no contractors will take on new jobs, but I’ve contacted someone in town who’s just returned from a long work trip and might be able to lend a hand at short notice,“ Martha replied. “Even though it makes me sick to ask that harlot for help.“

Before Jud could follow up on what she meant by that, the church doors burst open with a crash and a gentle, albeit somewhat teasing voice echoed from the stone walls, filling the whole building.

“Would you look at that, Martha? I crossed over the church’s threshold and didn’t burst into flames.”

You strode toward Martha, swinging your arms in a broad gesture inviting her to examine your unharmed body. Jud noticed the vigor in your step, the playful sparkle in your eyes - if not for the thousand other things going through his mind at that moment, he might have admitted how attractive he found you.

“Yes, yes,” Martha growled as Jud helped her to her feet. Annoyed, she brushed off her black skirt.

Meanwhile, you had walked over to the broken window and greeting Jud with a friendly nod, before inspecting the damage with raised eyebrows.

“Well, I don't know what you expect me to do here, but there's no way I can fix this in a day. Especially not with my amateur knowledge of installation and the materials I have in my shed.”

Something about you evoked an association in Jud that he couldn't quite put his finger on. His brain was working overtime, but to no avail.

“So you're not a contractor?,” he asked.

“Lilith is an artist,” Martha answered in your stead, emphasizing the last word with a condescending intonation. Although the whole sentence had a single condescending emphasis.

She stepped up to you, eager to negotiate the possibility of repair with you, completely oblivious to the fact that she had just pulled the rug out from under Father Jud. He had quite a bit of trouble controlling his heart and utterly shocked expression. It felt as if God had tilted the axis of the earth out of alignment, and no one noticed but him.

“Lilith?” he choked out.

“Just a creative alias that kind of stuck, don’t worry,” you called back over your shoulder, then carried on discussing realistic work output with Martha. You argued a little about the ratio of time, effort, and your abilities until Martha eventually gave in to your reasoning and abandoned her ideas as unfeasible, since you completely agreed with Samson's earlier assessment of the situation. He would have to seal the window with tape or boards until a professional company could install a replacement.

Jud couldn't hear a single word. Your request not to worry fell on deaf ears, because at that very moment he realized what he had only suspected before.

Your alias from when you started painting glas, which had somehow gained traction (Lillith), your work for churches that you never offered to your local church because there was some tension with the Monsignor (Wicks), your favorite bar with the devil theme (Nikolai's bar il diavolo), your home town you only moved back to because you inherited a house (Chimney Rock). The pieces of this puzzle that was your life, which Jud had so often wished to solve, all fell into place. But he didn't like the picture they formed one bit.

It was the worst case scenario.

After breaking off contact, he had hoped - prayed - that he would never cross paths with you again, and even if he did, that he wouldn't recognize you. He had hoped that - as awful as it sounded - even in such a scenario, he simply wasn't attracted to your looks, that your presence in person was different, that the fantasy would lose all its appeal and the spell would be broken.

But you were here, in Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude, in his church, right in front of him, and he knew it. He knew it was you, and looking at you for the first time now, you were just as you always had been:

Created to fall in love with.

It would be so easy for Jud to reach out and touch your face, to hold you in his arms, as he had so often longed to do. No. He couldn't. That was why he had came here in the first place.

But why did God send him to Chimney Rock, reminding him of his mission, and then deliver you into this very church? The sunlight pouring through the broken window enveloped you in an almost golden glow, as if to say:

Here she is, I have sent her to you once again.

If you enjoyed reading this, I would be ⭒delighted⭒ if you would let me know by leaving a heart, reblog or comment! c:

Taglist: @eliosberry

With the money, Jungkook was able to turn the studio from nice to homely. He would never say it because he is a perfectionist, but you think that it is perfect these days. Held in black, it is the perfect canvas for colourful accents and retro accessories. Art prints of his designs adorn the walls of the front area and custom-designed neon signs hang on the walls of the tattooing area in the back. He has sofas and chairs where his customers can take a break or calm down after their tattoo and he even offers a shower if one wishes to clean up before the session and a very comfortable changing area for all those needing to take off stuff. He keeps everything squeaky clean because hygiene is most important to him and many people leave surprised at just how clean and nice a tattoo studio can actually be. 

In total there are three tattoo chairs he switches between depending on the area he needs to tattoo. You sat in all three by now. They are all very comfortable and you can confidently say that he knows what he is doing.

Jungkook closed shop early today. You are his customer and that means the outside world wasn’t allowed in his shop. The closed sign is hanging on his door and the blinds are drawn closed to lock out prying eyes. You unlock the door with your set of keys after finishing your pilates class with Taehyung and Jimin. Yoongi is watching the dogs.

It is dim inside and Jungkook has scented candles burning. He also has your shared playlist running. You and he made your very own tattooing playlist which you always listen to when he tattoos you.

You lock the door and take off your outdoor shoes before making your way to the back.

The lights of the tattoo chair are turned on so he can see. Other than a few candles, it is dark in the back. He hates the big lights. The heaters are running so you won't get cold. Because of the warm temperature, Jungkook is hot enough that he only wears a tanktop. It is tight and shows off parts of his impressive back tattoo. He is preparing the stencil, moving his head to the music.

“Hey, there”, you greet him.

He lifts his head at the sound of your voice and turns in his chair. 

“Hey, baby. How was pilates?” he asks and struts to you with a sway in his hips as he moves to the music.

“Nice, but exhausting”, you say and kiss his lips in greeting. “Can’t wait to take a shower.” 

“Take your time.” 

You are here free of charge. Now to be fair, you offered to pay multiple times but he refuses to take payment.

“What’s the point? I’d put it into our shared account anyway”, he said.

“Well then, put it into your account for a change”, you argued, but he couldn’t be convinced.

“Tattooing you isn’t work, it’s like a date. I’m not letting you pay me for going on a date with you.”

You return from the shower in nothing but your panties because Jungkook will tattoo your upper back today. His other customers obviously aren’t that bared when getting their backs tattooed, but this is different. You are his wife and your nude body is familiar to him. This isn’t just getting a tattoo, it is bonding time between two lovers who are just way too comfortable with each other. This is why Jungkook made sure that it was obvious to everyone that his shop was closed today because it’s You time.

Jungkook has his back turned to you again when you return from the shower and so you decide to surprise him with a back hug. 

He chuckles, stepping into it. He hums when you follow it up by kissing his back with a rub of his pecs at the same time. 

“I hope that’s you, otherwise this is awkward”, he jokes.

“It’s me. Unless you are hiding someone in here”, you joke.

He turns in your arms, lifting you up on the bed, “that’s not funny.”

“You’re smiling.”

“Because you’re here now and I get to tattoo you.”

“Right. Phew, I’m actually nervous.” 

“Why?”

“I’m scared that it’ll hurt.”

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll be gentle”, he says in a soft voice, caressing your waist. He gives your naked chest one little playful glance.

You look at him with Those eyes, making him snicker.

“I know what you’re thinking”, he coos.

“It’s not my fault when you say it like that.” You nudge his chest. “I hope you’re not talking like this to other customers.”

“Ew no, of course not. Innuendos are solely reserved for you.” 

You chuckle, “good.”

He hums and kisses your lips, gazing at you afterwards.

“It’ll hurt like a bitch, won’t it?” you ask him, feeling up his toned arms casually.

Jungkook rubs your thighs, “we can go for as long as you can go. We don’t gotta finish all of it today.”

“I know. I feel good, just nervous. You know me.”

“Mhm, yeah.” He kisses your cheek as he hugs your waist with one arm. “My brave girl.” 

“Shut up”, you chuckle, “don’t call me that.” 

Jungkook laughs and steps back.

“Now, stand up. I gotta place the stencil.”

You get off the bed and place yourself in front of him, watching him in the mirror. Jungkook works diligently in placing the stencil. You wanted something that starts at your sides and which then snakes its paths under your shoulder blades to bring out the shapes of them. The idea of the tattoo is to accentuate and support the lines of muscles, bones and joints your back carries on this area. Jungkook had the idea because he likes when tattoos support the natural curves and lines of the human body instead of looking pasted on without thought. He showed you a few drafts and in the end, you decided to go for a tattoo solely done in black ink. 

Jungkook pulls off the paper, inspecting his work with furrowed brows. 

“Yeah that’s good”, he says, “look at the mirror. Do you like the placement?” 

Jungkook set up his mirrors so that one can see every spot of their body without having to do acrobatics. Again, he thought of everything in his studio, even mirror placement. You inspect the blue stencil sitting on your body. Jungkook places himself behind you, touching the right side of your waist gently as he studies the stencil in the mirror. Again, the treatment you get here is exclusively reserved for you. Jungkook doesn’t touch his other clients except for strictly tattooing touches. 

“I like it.”

“Yeah? Is the placement off somewhere?”

“No, it’s perfect. I really like it.”

Jungkook kisses your shoulder gently, “I hate it.”

“Why?” you chuckle.

“It’s slightly off-centre. Turn around. I’ll redo it.”

“Is this going to be another one of your it has to be more than perfect moments?”

“Obviously.”

Jungkook already printed out a few stencils because he knew that it would happen. He removes the first stencil carefully, replacing it with the second one.

“Mhm”, he hums, furrowing his brows.

“What’s the matter?” you ask him.

“Just making sure that I’ll like the placement.”

“Isn’t it normally that the customer should be happy with it?” 

“Yeah, but I’m the customer too. What if it ends up being wonky? Then every time I bend you over, I gotta look at it and get mad.”

You whip around and slap his chest gently.

“You are so gross.” 

He laughs, eyes sparkling.

“I mean it. How should I ever nut in doggy again when your wonky back tattoo makes me mad at my own failed placement?”

“Urgh, I can’t stand you, doofus”, you whine making him laugh and touch your hips.

“No, you love me.”

“Mhm, yeah I love you”, you give in, rubbing his shoulders, “give me a kiss, you idiot.”

He gives it to you happily, smiling into it. You retort the smile, ending the kiss with a fond chuckle. 

“So about that placement.” 

“Right. Turn around, it’s almost perfect. It’s just a little too high on the left.”

It feels good how he touches you as he replaces the stencil on your skin. It is gentle and done with his fingertips, which is really nice. 

“Are you getting cold?” he asks.

“Mhm? No, why?”

“You have goosebumps.” 

“No, it’s shivers. I like how you touch me.”

“Ah”, he lets out and follows it up with a fond chuckle, “I hope you’re not like this with your other tattoo artists.”

“No I am. I am like this with Jay and Kay, the other artists I go to”, you joke, making him laugh. He is the only person who tattoos you, so this joke is a total success.

“Wow, you are? Damn, I gotta fucking talk to those two. Are they hot?”

“They’re totally hot. Like, totally my type.”

His snickers continue. 

“Damn, but I bet they can’t fight. Mhm, baby?” He slaps your butt. “Are they gonna fight for you like I will?”

“Probably not, no. You’re definitely the best fighter of them.” 

“That’s what I like to hear”, he purrs and gives you another playful spank, “naughty girl.”

“Okay, you gotta relax”, you chuckle, “otherwise, this session isn’t even gonna happen.” 

He snickers, “no, I’ll make it happen. It’ll work better when you’re horny.” 

This joke totally lands, making you laugh.

“Wow okay, good to know. Since when is this a tattooing rule?”

“Since today.”

“Mhm I see and is this gonna be like a general rule in this store?” 

“Mmh yeah, but only for one customer. She is totally my type and has a great ass”, he says and spanks you a third time.

“Hah”, you chuckle, “damn, she sounds dangerous. You want her?”

“Like crazy. She’s always on my mind.” 

“Well fuck, but I bet she can’t fight like me. I did pilates today, I can totally take her.”

He laughs and kisses your shoulder, “you’ll definitely win, baby.”

You snicker, gazing at him in the mirror. He retorts it, giving you a cute nose scrunch.

“I just really like you, baby”, you say fondly, ruffling his hair.

“I like you too”, he whispers, stubbing your neck with his nose as a gesture of adoration. 

“Heh.”

“Heh.”

A soft neck kiss and then he steps back. 

“Now let’s be serious. Stand how you would normally stand.”

You follow his orders, watching him through the reflection. He is frowning in concentration, walking away and closer multiple times to check the placement from different distances.

“Yeah, I think this looks good. Do you want to take a look?” 

 “I like it. Although, I already liked it two tries earlier.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t. See how it ends with the natural curve there?” 

“Yeah.”

“It didn’t do it perfectly before. But now it’s symmetrical and follows this line”, he says, running his fingertips under where your teres major blends into your trapezius muscle. “Do you see what I mean?” 

“I do. It looks so cool already.”

He turns to the bed and fixes the hygiene cover.

“Get comfy, baby. I’m preparing the gear.”

You do as he offers, watching him work. 

“I’m nervous. Does it hurt a lot to do the back?”

“It depends on the person. I would say it hurts for a lot of people, but I also had people who fell asleep during their back tattoos. Mine hurt, but it was bearable. Don’t worry, baby. You can take as many breaks as you need and we can go for as far as you are able to. No need to finish it today, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I try to aim for that though. I really wanna have the tattoo already.”

He sits down on his chair and rolls closer, “yeah, I get that but don’t push yourself. It’s alright to do it in multiple sessions.”

“I know.”

“And I’ve got snacks and water whenever you need it”, he says, pointing at the table beside you. 

“I know. You’re the best.” 

“Do you want snacks already?”

“No. You want one though, don’t you?”

“Yeah”, Jungkook says, making you chuckle.

You look at the snacks.

“What do you want?”

“Preferably you.”

“Kook, why are you so horny today?”

“I’m not horny, I just like flirting with you. I want choco pops.”

You hand feed a couple to him, “you are totally horny.”

“I’m innocent”, he says, chewing vigorously.

You laugh, snacking on a few choco pops yourself before lying down on the bed face down. There is a hole cut out where your face goes. Jungkook made it more comfortable with a cooling gel pillow and a soft towel. Sometimes you misuse the bed for very private, late-night massages. No further details will be given here, other that Jungkook keeps his tattoo studio very hygienic and clean.

Jungkook drapes a heated blanket over your legs and lower back so you wouldn’t get cold. Then he sits down on his chair.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks, picking up the tattoo gun.

“Yes, very. This is so cozy.”

“Good. Relax. I’m starting.”

“I’m ready.” 

The machine buzzes to life. 

“Here it comes”, he warns and a stinging pain follows.

“Uh”, you let out, tensing up.

“How is it?” 

“I can definitely feel it.”

“Just tell me when you need a break”, he says, sounding a little distracted but this is normal. Jungkook has the tendency to go entirely silent when he tattoos people because his entire focus shifts to the task ahead. You don’t mind. You like sharing silence with him. Even if this silence is accompanied by stinging pain on your back.

“How are you doing, baby?” he checks up on you after a while, switching out his needle after he accidentally hit the bottom of the ink bowl with it. Again, he is very meticulous with his tattooing process. He would never keep using a needle that got damaged.

“It’s actually not as bad as I thought it would be. Am I weird for thinking it’s kinda relaxing?” you say, looking at him.

He chuckles, “not at all. A lot of my female clients say that. Maybe it’s a relaxing spot for you girls.”

“Yeah maybe. Oh, uff okay the first stab is always a surprise though. Damn.”

“You’re doing really well, baby”, he murmurs mindlessly, eyes focused on the task ahead. His brows are furrowed and his lips are pursed into a concentrated pout. You just kind of gaze at him with droopy, fond eyes.

“How much did we do already?”

“I’m almost done with your left shoulder.”

“Wow damn. You’re so cool, Kookie.”

“Thanks”, he barely answers you, which lets you know that you won’t get a lot out of him right now. He is completely engrossed in the task.

You fix your head again and close your eyes. There have definitely been spots which hurt more than your back. Of course it isn’t comfortable, but it isn’t very painful either. It kind of feels as if you were getting pinched by something small and hot repeatedly. Weirdly enough, it relaxes your muscles.

Not long after, you drift off into a peaceful slumber.

When you wake again, the gun is turned off and Jungkook sits beside you eating snacks. As if he senses you, he meets your eyes.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

“How long was I out for?” you ask in a raspy voice, having to clear your throat afterwards.

“Around two hours.”

“Mhm that explains everything. I feel out of it”, you grumble, sitting up with struggle. Your face carries deep marks of the gel pillow.

“Drink something.”

“Thanks.”

“And eat a snack.”

“Mhm snack.”

He cleans up the table while you munch on the kimchi onigiri he made. It is very tasty.

“How much do we have left?”

“Mhm? Oh, we’re done.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. Do you wanna see?”

“Uhm, yes? Hello? You gotta ask?”

He helps you off the bed and follows you to the mirrors, pacing nervously while you look at his artwork. He made it look so much more beautiful than you could have imagined.

“Wow, baby this is amazing. I love it so much”, you gush, eyes sparkly in awe.

“Really? Do you like it? Oh my god, my heart’s gonna come outta my ass.”

“Don’t worry, you can keep your heart inside”, you chuckle, turning to face him. You pull him close by his waist, keeping a grip on it. “I love it so much. It’s exactly what I wanted.”

Jungkook smiles shyly, “I’m so glad. I worked really hard. Wah, I worked so hard that my eyes hurt”, he whines and rubs them.

“Aw, my hardworking bubba. Should I take care of you, mhm?” you coo.

“No. You aren’t done. Turn around, I need to put on the ointment.”

“Oh? So when I flirt with you, you’re just gonna reject me?”

“Yeah, I don’t fuck around with aftercare.”

You turn with a laugh on your lips. He definitely doesn’t.

It had been a long day, and Sammy was more than relieved to finally be getting through the front door and get to wrap his arms around you after it. You had messaged him at work to come around to your place to eat after he had mentioned barely having any time to squeeze in dinner if he wasn't getting it cooked by you.

At first he felt rotten that you were cooking for him (again), but after some arm twisting and reassurance on your part, you managed to settle down his worries. You loved cooking, but moreover you loved cooking for others, especially Sammy. It was your love language, and Sammy was more than happy to accept it.

Sammy set down his things by the couch, and tilted his head towards the kitchen where he saw you, but more poignantly; where he could smell something delicious coming from.

"You gonna stand there or come and kiss me Bryant." You said, keeping your eyes cast downward at the food on the stove.

"How the hell did you hear me?" Sammy frowned as he began to approach you from behind.

"You walk like a herd of elephants." You lightly teased. "Now get over here, I need your mouth." You said, much to Sammy's delight.

"Don't need to tell me twice." he huffed.

"I mean come taste this." You clarified with a smirk and shook your head at the crossed wires. "Then kiss me."

"Yes Ma'am." Sammy closed the gap between you, his hands assuming the position on your soft hips as he brought his mouth down to your neck and shoulder. He was grateful you had taken to wearing his baggy, ratty old gym shirts as it meant they were loose enough to fall open at the perfect spots around your neck and shoulders, exposing his favourite parts of your anatomy to kiss (or at least a few of his favourite parts).

"Hey, c'mere." You said as you twisted a little in Sammy's arms. "Open." You gently instructed as you raised the wooden spoon up to Sammy's mouth.

He leaned in and took the offered spoonful of risotto, humming at the warmth and creamy texture as he sampled it across his tongue.

"S'good." He nodded and swallowed before leaned in to kiss your cheek, admiring the pleased smile gracing your features as you nodded and turned back to the stove. "Now can I kiss you?" He impatiently said.

Smiling, you set down the spoon and reached up for Sammy's cheeks to bring him down to you. Sammy smiled against your lips as he kissed you, light and soft pecks at first before applying a long, lingering kiss, humming in relaxation against your mouth.

"Hey." He smiled lazily like an idiot, lids half shut as he looked you over.

"Hey." You returned, feeling your stomach flip a little with how Sammy was roaming over you with his glinting, hazel eyes.

It was only then that you noticed Sammy's cold, metallic badge under your fingertips, and indeed that he was still in his uniform.

"Yeah, sorry, I didn't have time to get outta my uniform." Sammy said, noticing how you scrutinised his clothes. Usually when he'd come over he'd be in jeans and a t-shirt or something casual, but tonight he simply didn't get away from his work soon enough to get a change of clothes.

"Uh huh." You nodded in acknowledgement before separating to tend to the dinner on the stove. "So how was your day, officer." You playfully teased as you raised the wooden spoon up to your own mouth to sample the risotto for yourself.

"Nothing too crazy, I got stuck with speeding duty so I was trapped in the car for several hours. Then in the office sorting out Ben's shit show of paperwork that he's been draggin his heels for over a month now. So, captain asked if I could help move things along." Sammy explained as he rubbed his eyes and leaned against the countertop. "And then, this afternoon - hey." Sammy abruptly halted.

You flicked your eyes up from where you unaware had been lingering on Sammy's uniform, confused and on the spot as he smiled curiously at you.

"You're checking me out." Sammy said, turning to face you with his arms folded.

"What? No I wasn't." You frowned offensively.

"You were checkin me out just now." Sammy repeated, practically brimming with amusement.

"No, I wasn't." You denied and turned back to the stove to look down into the bubbling pot of risotto.

"You were, I was watching you." Sammy grinned and tilted his head. "You were totally checkin me out just now."

"I was just looking at your uniform, I've never seen you done up in it before is all." You shrugged and continued stirring, telling yourself the sudden heat in your cheeks was from the steam off the cooking.

"Yes you have, you see me in the diner in my uniform almost every other morning." Sammy countered as he unfolded his arms and stepped a little closer towards you.

"Yeah but just...that was before you and I...before we became...it was under a different context." You flimsily excused. Sammy enjoyed watching the way your hair swished from side to side as you shook your head, all the while with your back towards him.

"Hey, turn around and look at me." Sammy said, reaching out to softly tap your elbows as not to make your hands slip on one of the pots and cause a casualty.

You switched off all the burners, set lids on top of everything so it kept, and brushed your hands clean together before turning around and looking at Sammy with a smile and a quirked brow.

"What?" You finally said, sounding like an irked teen that had just been caught doing something they shouldn't have.

"You were checkin me out." Sammy repeated again, reeling at how you rolled your eyes and shook your head at his boyish glee.

"You're enjoying this far too much y'know." You said, trying to sound annoyed but Sammy could only see the blush blooming at the tips of your ears.

"You like me in uniform." Sammy smugly noted. "C'mon, admit it. You think I look good."

"I think you look...smart." You said, trying to downplay your true feelings towards seeing Sammy done up.

"Uh huh." Sammy said, unconvinced as he took your hands in his and made you stand right in front of him. "You like me in uniform." He repeated. "Just admit it."

You began to move around the kitchen, stepping slowly away from Sammy as you noted the glint in his mischievous eyes. You could feel the heat flushing in full glory now in your cheeks as you tried to contain your nervous smile.

"Look at you, all bashful." Sammy smirked and teased, stalking around the kitchen island after you as you evaded him with each backwards step you took to keep the distance.

"Stop." You smirked. "Sammy. Stop right there."

"You got the hots for me in uniform." Sammy noted, tilting his head to the side. "C'mon, admit it."

"Stop it." You urged, giggling like a little school girl as Sammy stepped closer to you.

"You've gone all stupid on me." Sammy continued, utterly excited that he had you acting all silly and shy.

"Sammy" You warned again with a pointed finger held up. "I'm being serious."

"I'm gonna need you to come with me for further questioning Ma'am." Sammy said as he went to grab you, but missed, allowing you to duck and dive out from under his arm with an excitable squeal.

Sammy stomped after you as you ran away from him laughing, and into the living room.

"Suspect has fled the scene, proceeding on foot to apprehend and take to the bedroom for further interrogating." Sammy grinned as he swiftly followed you, observing you as you stood with the couch and coffee table separating the both of you.

"Sammy! Sammy stop acting like an idiot, we're gonna break something." You said, though your nervous laughter betrayed how much you were actually enjoying being chased around the apartment by Sammy, in uniform no less.

"I'm gonna need you to come quietly...or loudly...I know you're a screamer." Sammy winked as he braced against the back of the sofa, drumming his fingers along the back of it as he looked you over.

"Sammy!" You blanched at his salacious comment, and the pair of your burst out laughing.

"Just admit to the charges." Sammy shrugged.

"What charges would that be, officer?" You laughed, playing Sammy at his own fantasy.

"That you find me utterly irresistible in uniform." Sammy grinned widely and winked at you again.

"I deny all claims." You giggled and dug your heels in, feeling a wave of excitement surging through you.

"Then you'll have to come with me." He said, low and threatening.

You side stepped to the right, to which Sammy mirrored, then to the left, again Sammy repeated. You were cornered, and didn't have time to think as Sammy leapt over the couch with ease and came around the coffee table to catch and scoop you up over his shoulder.

"Sammy! Sammy no!" You practically squealed and wriggled in his grasp as he began marching through the living room with you across him fireman style.

"Resisting arrest, serious offense." Sammy sarcastically called over the back of him to you, and swatted your backside.

"Sammy! The dinner!" You tried to make your excuses, but it was done for.

You take no mind. Deep down, you know they could never understand just how deeply you and Bucky feel for each other. They don't realize how your relationship is stronger than they could fathom, built on the foundation of friendship and blossoming with each passing day. He isn't capable of betraying you.

But doubt has an ugly way of creeping in when it's not welcome.

"Who's she?" You ask Sam with a raised brow as you nod towards where Bucky's speaking warmly with a woman you don't recognize. She looks around fifteen years older than you and Bucky, and she's admittedly gorgeous.

Sam looks across the bar and seems surprised when he sees her. "Oh. That is, uh, an old friend of his. A very old friend; I haven't seen or heard about her since before he met you," He tells you.

"I see," You utter, trying not to let the irritation seep into your tone as they laugh together.

You're not a jealous wife - at least, you didn't think you'd be. Back when you were only friends, you would get horrifically jealous, but that was because you were so scared of losing him to someone else. Now, though, there's a ring on his finger signifying to the world that he's yours, and you're entirely secure in your marriage.

But something about her and the way she's looking at him irks you.

"Did they fuck?" You ask Sam, throwing casual out the window.

He lifts up his drink. "No," He tells you. "Not to my knowledge, anyway."

You turn to him and raise a brow.

"They didn't," He doubles down more firmly. "Agatha helped us out when we were in trouble a few years ago. Sure, they flirted, but you know him. He'd flirt with a brick wall. Nothing ever happened between them."

That brings you solace - until you recount the whole story to your nail woman.

"Oh, no. Oh, no, no," Josefina utters, shaking her head.

"What?" You ask with a frown.

"They haven't slept together," She says gravely, looking up at you as she files your nails. "Means they'll be still be curious as to what it would be like."

"Jamie doesn't waste his time thinking about what sex would be like with other women," You tell her curtly.

"All men think about is what sex will be like with every woman they encounter, whether they're happily married or not- it's only natural," She claims. "But when the women in question are thinking the same thing, that's the danger zone. Who is this woman, what's the history?"

"She's in the same line of work as him, to my knowledge," You tell her. "Helped Jamie almost a decade ago, and now she's resurfaced out of nowhere."

Josefina nods slowly before looking back down at your nails. "I'll file these into claws, just in case."

The first time Bucky lies to your face is on a late Thursday night.

"You shouldn't have waited up for me, fairy," He says as he wraps his arms around you.

"I didn't wanna eat without you," You tell him honestly as you take a bite from the bowl of pasta you're sharing.

"Missed you today," He mumbles against your forehead before opening his mouth to let you feed him.

"Missed you more," You say before turning to him. "How was your day?"

"Uh, it was fine," He replies with his eyes on the food. "Just been balancing the books with Alex and Sam. Took a little longer than I expected."

Your blood runs cold. Just an hour ago, Sam dropped by to see you. He didn't mention anything about being with Bucky tonight - in fact, he seemed surprised to hear Bucky wasn't home.

"Oh, Aggie? She's helping us get into Chicago," He tells you casually. "She's got good connections there, and you know how I've always wanted Chicago."

You can't help but be straight up with him - he may be able to lie to your face, but you can't hold back when there's something you want to know. "Who's that woman?" You ask him curtly. "She seems to be at the bar quite a bit."

Aggie. Your eye twitches at the nickname that leaves his mouth so easily. Does he think about fucking her? Was he with her tonight?

"What are you giving her in return?" You ask him curiously.

"She's a good friend; she hasn't asked for anything," Bucky explains before taking another bite. "I'm sure there'll be an opportunity for me to help her out in the future, though. Heck, by now, I must owe her a hundred favors."

"She seems nice," You say with as much sincerity as you can muster. "I'd like to properly meet her."

You almost regret telling him that.

The next day, you're checking the stock in one of the warehouses when he shows up with her. The idea of her sitting in his passenger seat, where you'd usually sit, makes your stomach churn.

Stop it. You trust him.

"Fairy, this is Agatha Harkness," He says with a smile. "Aggie, this is my beautiful wife, Y/N."

"I've heard so much about you," She tells you with a smile as she holds her hand out to you. "The fact that you tamed James must mean you're an incredible woman. I'm in awe of you."

Oh, it's James now?

You take in a deep breath and do well to shake her hand rather than claw her eyes out. Fucking James.

Somehow, you manage to force a smile. "Can't say I've heard anything about you, Agatha," You can't help but say.

She shoots him a smirk. "I don't blame him; there's not really much to say."

"You're being modest," Bucky says with a chuckle before looking over to you. "Aggie is very good at what she does. She could sell a machine gun to the Dalai Lama."

Your hand slips into his, subconsciously staking your claim.

"I met James when he was only seventeen," She tells you with a smile. "He's grown into such a handsome young man - but I'm not surprised. He's always been gorgeous."

Inwardly cringing as you try to mentally work out how old she must've been back then, you squeeze Bucky's hand. He gives you a cheeky wink, one that would usually elicit a giggle from you, but you can't help but feel ill.

The first time you imagine them fucking, you're disgusted with yourself.

"What's wrong, fairy?" Bucky asks you between heavy breaths while you scramble to sit on the edge of the bed.

You shake your head, trying desperately to get the image out of your head. Think about rainbows. Butterflies. Puppies.

"Baby, talk to me," He mumbles, gently rubbing your back. "Everything okay?"

It happened against your will - you didn't want to think about Bucky having sex with another woman. But as you were riding him, as his head fell back and the groans left his mouth, you couldn't help but wonder.

How could you?

Looking over at him, into his deep blue eyes, you feel absolutely awful. How could you ever think he could hurt you in that way?

"You okay, fairy?" He mumbles softly, gently stroking your arm. "Something I can do? Need me to fuck off?"

Looking over at him, meeting his shiny eyes, you can't help but be disgusted with yourself. After seven months of marriage and nine years of friendship, you know him better than you know himself. You know his character.

"I'm okay," You find the energy to say. "Just..."

"You're alright," He says, placing a soft kiss to your cheek. He doesn't need an explanation - you want to stop having sex, and that doesn't need a reason. More than anything, he's your safe space, and he'd never push you out of your comfort zone during such an intimate moment. The bedroom is where you're both most vulnerable, and Bucky understands that sometimes, it can feel too intense, and you need a break.

And you know all this. Which is why you're so angry at yourself for doubting his loyalty, for allowing yourself to picture such a horrid scene. He wouldn't. He couldn't betray you.

You're starting to see Bucky less and less during the days, and you can't help but spiral. As you lay next to him in bed, your mind wanders to dark places.

He's on his Kindle and you're staring up at the ceiling. His arm's around your shoulder, fingers gently stroking your skin.

Why hasn't he made a move on you yet? He's usually all over you when he hasn't seen you all day. Could it be he's already been satisfied tonight?

Stop. How could you think like that?

"Fairy?" He whispers suddenly, pulling you from your thoughts. "What you thinking about, baby?"

You turn on your side to look at him. "You," Is your truthful answer.

"Yeah?" He asks with a smirk, putting away his Kindle before turning to you and resting his hand on your waist. "What about me?"

"Wondering why we aren't fucking yet," You admit simply.

He raises his brows and shuffles in closer to you. "Well, to be honest, after the other night... I thought I should give you some space. I didn't wanna push you," He tells you.

"Oh, that?" You ask with a soft laugh. "No, that was just a random blip. I want you, Jamie. Want you really bad."

"Yeah?" He asks, taking your hands and pinning them above your head, slowly nestling between your legs. "Is that right, fairy?"

"Mhm," You hum, craning your neck up, desperate to get a kiss from him.

"All you had to do was ask, pretty girl," Bucky mumbles before kissing you deeply. It feels safe, and secure, and like nothing has changed between you.

One of his hands trails down your body and between your legs, before it slips under your panties. He continues kissing you while rubbing your clit, making you whimper into his mouth.

"I missed you," You whisper as your back arches.

"I missed you too, fairy," Bucky says lowly, his hard cock digging into your thigh. Before you can beg him to fuck you, though, you hear the worst sound in the world.

His phone rings.

"Ugh, turn it off," You whine, the jarring sound going straight through you. "Why isn't it on silent mode?"

Bucky lifts his head up, his lips parted. "Shit. I've been waiting to hear back on something important," He tells you, making your blood run cold.

"James, if you answer that call, I swear to God..." You trail off, glaring at him.

"I'm sorry, fairy. Give me five minutes," He says before getting off of you and grabbing his phone from the nightstand.

You stare up at the ceiling, seething. The only thing worse than him answering a call with his fingers in your panties would be if the person on the other side was-

"Aggie, hey," He answers, making your hand twitch.

Immediately, you get off the bed and storm into the en-suite, making sure to slam the door behind you. You stare at yourself in the mirror. Have you lost it? Are you not as beautiful to him as you used to be? Is he bored of you?

There was a time when Bucky would let the city burn just so he could look at you. When the sound of his phone ringing would melt into the background if his lips were on yours. When he'd do anything just for a chance to look at you a little longer. What he just did was a betrayal of every promise he's made you. Maybe you're being dramatic, but it's he who set the precedent. Telling you nothing would ever come above you, that he'd rather die than hurt you.

When you re-enter the bedroom, he's hanging up the phone. You stare coldly at him. "How could you do that?" You ask him.

His face softens. "I'm sorry, fairy, it was-"

"I don't give a fuck what it was about, you don't do that. Not to me," You cut him off.

"Can I explain myself?" He asks, the frustration in his tone only pissing you off further.

"Shut the fuck up, don't talk to me like that," You retort, pointing your finger at him. "You're a fucking asshole. Go."

"Go?" He repeats with raised brows.

"Yeah. Get the fuck out, because you're not sleeping in here with me tonight," You tell him curtly.

It looks as though he's about to say something else, maybe even argue with you, but instead, he takes in a deep breath and leaves the room.

The next morning, you wake up just as angry as you were when you fell asleep. It was a shitty night, tossing and turning and constantly waking up, your hands reaching out for a warmth that wasn't there.

After showering and getting dressed, you head downstairs. Your plan is to be out of the house all day so you don't have to speak to Bucky, but just as you get to the kitchen to make yourself a quick drink, you're taken aback by what you see.

The island in the middle of the kitchen is covered in gift-wrapped boxes, baskets of your favorite foods and self-care items, and bouquets of flowers. You roll your eyes. It won't be that easy to win your forgiveness. You begin to walk straight over to the sink, but a familiar smell stops you in your tracks, right by the corner of the island.

Looking down, you see a platter of pastries from your favorite local bakery. You suck in a sharp breath. Ignore it. Walk away. Leave.

But they look so fresh.

Fuck it. With a huff, you grab a beignet and take a bite, your eyes fluttering shut at the softness and sweetness. While you chew, a pair of hands rest on your hips.

"I love you. I'm so, so sorry," Bucky says lowly, resting his chin on your shoulder as his arms wrap tightly around you. "I was an asshole. Shouldn't have done that to you, and I never will again."

Sighing, you turn to face him. "You think some sweet treats and flowers are gonna make me happy?" You ask him with a raised brow.

"I also got you that bracelet you've been eyeing up," He points out, resting his forehead against yours. "I'm sorry. I know saying it isn't enough but I need you to know that I mean it. I love you."

"Yeah," Is all you give him back before you continue eating the beignet.

"Let me take you to brunch, fairy, wherever you want," He requests, rubbing your hips. "And then we can go to the bar and celebrate Vinnie's 21st with the guys. What do you say?"

Looking up into his eyes, you nod. "Alright," You whisper.

His hands slip down to your ass and he leans down and kisses you softly. "You, uh... think we have time for a quickie, first?" He asks carefully.

With a scoff, you push him away. "In your fucking dreams, Barnes," You say with a glare, before taking a few steps towards the door. "Let's see how I'm feeling after brunch."

Though you weren't in the mood for sex after brunch, you did let Bucky eat you out on the way to the bar. It almost made you forget why you were ever mad at him, but when you get to the bar and see Agatha among the others, you're in a mood again.

Sam sits next to you while you watch Bucky speaking to Vinnie, likely giving him a lecture about being a man and taking on more responsibilities. Agatha lingers around them, making your fingers twitch.

"All good?" Sam asks you as he refills your glass with whisky.

"Meh," You let out, sinking back in your seat.

"What's wrong, hmm?" He presses, nudging your shoulder with his.

"Nothing; I'm being dramatic," You tell him before turning to him and lowering your voice. "Swear to me that this conversation stays between us?"

"Like every conversation we have," He replies, frowning. "What's going on?"

You let out a deep sigh. "I'm jealous," You admit, as painful as it is.

"Jealous? Of who?" He pushes incredulously.

"Alright, maybe jealous is the wrong word, because there's nothing about her I'm jealous of," You backtrack, malice seeping into your voice. "That fucking Agatha. I don't like her. Don't trust her."

Sam raises his brows and sits back, realization on his face. "Oh," He says simply, letting a short silence sit between you before he speaks again. "Her and Bucky are close."

"Yeah, no shit," You spit.

"Do you really think he'd do that to you?" Sam questions you.

"No," You answer immediately. "But I don't doubt she'd try."

"And that's all it would ever be," He assures you. "And the second she oversteps, she's out of here. Bucky wouldn't disrespect you by keeping someone like that around."

You hum, nodding slowly. He's right. Of course he's right.

"Anyway," Sam continues. "How's everything else? Your friends all good?"

Confused by his sudden interest in your girlfriends, you narrow your eyes at him. "Uh, yeah," You reply. "Why?"

"No, just making sure," He claims. "Y'know, one of yours is one of us. Gotta make sure everyone's eating good."

"They're eating good," You assure him, before his words remind you of something that makes you grin. "Banita is definitely eating good. She's finally not feeling sick anymore, and she's got all these weird pregnancy cravings, and a huge appetite."

"Oh, Banita, yeah," He breathes out. "How far along is she, now?"

"Seven months," You tell him with a smile. "It's the baby shower in a few weeks, and I'm so excited. It's gonna be so cute!"

"Are we invited?" He asks, surprising you. "Y'know, just to keep an eye on you guys, make sure you're safe."

"Uh, it's kind of like a women-only thing, and it's only a small thing at Banita's house, so no need for security guards," You explain. "But I'll bring you some leftover cake."

Sam nods. "Thanks. Appreciate it."

You sit back in your chair again, and glance over at where Bucky was talking to Vinnie. He's now talking to Agatha, much to your dismay. They're laughing.

"Like, what could they be talking about that's that funny?" You wonder out loud, shaking your head.

Sam snorts at you.

"What?" You ask him with a glare.

"It's just funny," He comments. "I remember back when Bucky would say shit like that about the guys you'd talk to. God, it was so frustrating how jealous he'd get. And he'd take it out on us whenever you had a date with someone else, so thanks for that." With a small smile, Sam looks over at you. "That man went through hell every day that you weren't his. I'd be damned if he screwed it up now that he's got you. You're too important to him, boss."

You continue looking at Bucky as he speaks to Agatha. Sam is right. You should listen to Sam. Stop letting your twisted mind overthink and drive you crazy. Bucky has more than earned your trust.

So why is he not moving her hand off his arm?

The final straw breaks you a week later.

Bucky had a long meeting with a supplier. You wanted to join him, seeing as you're trying to get more involved with the business, but he said he didn't want you there - that it might get ugly. He told you only him and Sam were going in, and it was going to be a difficult, tense conversation.

Naturally, you're concerned for him - even more so when you get a call from Sam at 10pm. Oh God. This is it. He's gonna tell you Bucky's dead.

"Hello?" You ask with a whisper.

"Hey, you," Sam replies, and it sounds like he's been drinking. "Uh, I was thinking about... what you said the other day. About Banita-"

"Sam, where are you?" You cut him off. "Are you not with James right now?"

"Huh? Nah, I'm at the bar," He tells you. "Haven't seen Buck all day."

"All day?" You repeat, your heart thudding in your chest. "But... uh, isn't he meeting with Novikov tonight?"

"What? No, that meeting isn't until next month," Sam tells you, making your blood run cold.

"Oh," You utter, feeling sick to your stomach.

"Is Bucky not home? I thought-"

"No, he- he just rolled up to the house, actually," You claim, not wanting Sam to be suspicious. "I'm just being dumb; I forgot he had gone out on an errand and mixed up the date of the meeting. But he's back now, so, mystery over."

"Oh, good," Sam replies. "Anyway, I really need to talk to you about Bani-"

"I gotta go, Sam, I'll talk to you later," You say in a hushed, rushed voice, hanging up on him and sinking to the floor of your bedroom.

Before your mind gets a chance to overthink, you quickly call Bucky. Why would he lie to you about having to work tonight? Where has he been all day?

It rings three times before he picks up.

"Hey, fairy," He answers. "Everything alright?"

"Where are you?" You ask him, giving him a chance to come clean.

Maybe he didn't mean to lie to you - maybe he mixed the date of the meeting up himself, and right now, he's about to give you a perfectly good explanation about where he is and what he's doing.

"I told you, I've got a late meeting with Novikov," He says, making your heart drop.

"Oh. With- is Sam there, too?" You ask, your voice no louder than a whisper.

"Yeah, he is," He lies straight to you.

You lean back against the bed, your breaths shaky. "Okay," You utter.

"Are you sure you're okay, fairy?" Bucky asks you.

Clinging onto your t-shirt, you part your lips in a silent scream. Yell at him. Tell him you know he's lying. Demand him to tell you the truth.

And then you hear it. It's faint, but the silence between you allows you to make out exactly what it is: the sound of a woman laughing. And you'd put money on who that woman is.

"I'm fine. I'm going to sleep," You say, numb.

"Alright. I'll probably end up staying at the office until the early morning so I might not see you until tomorrow, baby," He tells you, making your guts churn.

"Okay," You squeak. "Good night."

"Good night, fairy. I love you," Bucky says, and it sounds exactly like he's always said it.

You hang up and throw your phone at the wall before bursting into thick, ugly sobs.

Bucky gets home earlier than he thought he would. It's just past 1am when he walks through the front door, and he's surprised to hear music from the living room. He thought you would be fast asleep in bed by now.

He takes off his shoes and makes his way to the living room, expecting to see you passed out on the couch with one of your shitty reality TV shows playing, but the sight he gets is much, much different.

As he walks in, he immediately kicks over an empty bottle of wine, which makes him stop in his tracks. He sees you sitting in the middle of the carpet, wearing your wedding dress, holding another half-empty bottle of wine, with your head hung down. Your wedding video is playing on the TV.

"What is going on?" He utters, walking over to you. "Baby? Are you okay?"

You look up at him, and it looks like you've been crying for hours.

Bucky sinks to his knees and places his hands on your shoulders. "Hey, hey, fairy, it's me," He whispers. "What's going on, hmm? How come you're in your dress?"

He can tell by the look on your face that you're far too drunk to give him a reasonable answer.

"Okay, come on, let's go to bed," Bucky says, taking the wine bottle from your hands and placing it on the coffee table. He then grabs the remote from the table and turns off the TV.

"I know what you did," You suddenly say, your words slurred.

Bucky frowns down at you. "What?" He asks, stroking your arm. "What do you mean, fairy?"

"I know you fucked Agatha," You cry out. "You're having an affair, aren't you?"

His face falls and his voice turns cold. "What the fuck are you talking about, Y/N?"

With a hiccup, you let out a whimper before your eyes slowly flutter shut, and you pass out.

The next morning, you wake up feeling like you've been hit by a truck.

You wince as you clamber out of bed, the bright light in the bathroom making you cringe while you brush your teeth. The only thing keeping you from hiding in bed is the smell of breakfast, which lures you downstairs and into the kitchen.

Bucky's at the stove, making pancakes.

"Good morning, Jay," You mumble, trying to remember the gap in your memories from last night. The last thing you remember is eating dinner with Bucky before he left for work.

"Morning," He replies, placing the last pancake onto the stack before turning off the gas and turning to face you.

You sit at the island while he slides over a glass of orange juice and some Advil. "Thank you," You whisper.

Bucky puts a couple of pancakes on your plate before serving himself. You're sipping on your juice when he finally speaks again. "So, how come you drank last night?" He asks you.

"Huh? Oh, I guess I figured I was home alone all night, so I had a couple of glasses," You suggest, trying to put the pieces together yourself.

"You said some fucked up shit," Bucky says as he cuts into his pancakes.

"I did? Oh, no, nothing too freaky, right?" You ask with a laugh.

He looks up to meet your eyes, no hint of humor in his. "You accused me of having an affair with Agatha," He tells you bluntly.

And just like that, it all comes rushing back. You remember exactly why you drank so much, and exactly why Bucky seems so upset.

"Oh," You utter dumbly, not knowing what else to say.

The silence that sits between you is cold and heavy. The kind you want desperately to fill with words, only you don't know which ones to use.

"Fairy... what the fuck?" Bucky utters, pain in his eyes. "Where did that come from?"

You bite your lip, wincing. "I just... you've been gone so much lately. Lying about where you are. And she wants you, I know she does. Sam told me the meeting with Novikov isn't until next month, and... it's not the first time you've lied to me about where you've been," You say, terrified.

He lets out a deep sigh as he processes your words. "It's... it's your birthday tomorrow," He says.

For a moment, you say nothing. And then the realization hits you harder than your hangover. Your birthday. He's been planning for it. With everyone going on with the businesses, you assumed you wouldn't be able to do anything special for the day - but how could you ever believe that Bucky would settle for less than special?

You slap your hands over your mouth and immediately burst into tears. Ugly sobs rattle through your chest, making your head hurt even more.

"Baby. Baby. Don't cry," He says as he walks around the counter.

"How- how could I ever think that of you?" You manage to choke out, your words almost unintelligible. "You're so perfect and I... I doubted you in the worst way. How could I do that to you?"

"Come here, my darling, it's alright," He assures you as he holds you tight, rocking you back and forth. He continues comforting you while your tears subdue, your breaths choppy as you sniffle.

He doesn't say anything, simply hugging you and stroking your hair, kissing your forehead, wiping away your tears. Once your sobs have ceased and your breathing is back to normal, he smiles down at you.

"Look at me. Marriage is scary, okay?" He begins. "We're both doing this for the first time. We're not gonna be perfect. All I can promise you is that I will never betray you-"

"You don't have to say that, Jamie," You cry. "You shouldn't need to say that."

"I want to say it," He assures you. "I want you to hear it. I may act stupid at times, or say the wrong thing-"

"You're never wrong, you're perfect," You cut in, clinging onto his shirt. "I'm evil."

"Evil?" He repeats with a scoff. "Baby, I know evil, okay? I've looked evil in the fucking eye. You are not that. You are my darling girl. My fairy. I- it's my fault for keeping secrets-"

"You were just trying to surprise me-"

"Still, I shouldn't have lied to your face," He says. "I felt sick whenever I did. Hated it. But... I just wanted to see your face when you saw it tomorrow."

Your face crumples again. "I ruined the surprise," You whine.

"You didn't ruin it; you still don't know what it is," Bucky points out. "I went too far with trying to keep it a secret. Ended up hurting you, which I never want to do."

"But I should've just trusted you," You say, shaking your head. "How could I think that of you?"

"I made it pretty easy for you to jump to that conclusion," He says, rubbing your shoulder. "I should've known you'd realize I was hiding something."

With a pout, you look up at him. "I'm sorry I ruined my surprise," You say.

He frowns down at you. "Hey, you don't know exactly what it is yet, do you?" He asks as his lips curl up. "You're still gonna be blown away, fairy. You deserve to be spoiled, especially on your birthday, and I'll make sure of it."

"You spoil me every day," You say with an eye roll.

"Because I love you every day," Bucky replies before placing a kiss on your shoulder. "Now, eat. My pancakes aren't as good when they're cold."

While he reaches out to grab his plate and takes a seat next to you, you turn to face him. "So, if you were planning my surprise this whole time... why did you have to speak to Agatha so late at night?" You wonder curiously. "She also seems to be awfully comfortable touching up on you."

With a bite of pancakes in his mouth, Bucky chews while smirking at you, a look of surprise on his face. When he swallows, he leans in. "Baby, are you jealous?" He asks, delight in his eyes.

Shooting him a glare, you put your fork down. "I don't get jealous, Barnes. I was irritated that she was touching my property," You correct him curtly.

"Your property?" He repeats with a laugh. "Fuck. You know it turns me on when you get all possessive, pretty girl."

"Well, stop, because I'm being serious," You say, poking his chest. "I don't want her grabbing your arm, hugging you, fucking giggling in your ear - calling you late at night. You're not her piece of meat. You're mine."

Bucky wraps his arm around you with a cheesy grin. "Keep talking like that, I'll need you to prove it right here and now," He grumbles against your lips.

You push him back with a scoff. "Get a fucking grip," You tell him sternly. "I need you to be serious. Why was she calling you so late? Why did I hear her laughing when you were at your fake Novikov meeting last night?"

He pulls back and drops the smirk, knowing you're not playing games. "Aggie-"

You throw him the coldest glare you can muster.

"Agatha," He corrects himself. "Was helping me plan your surprise."

"The fuck does an arms dealer have to do with birthdays?" You question him incredulously.

"She has a lot of good contacts-"

"What are you gonna do, shoot me?" You ask, to which he snorts.

"No, baby, she's just very well connected, even more so than me," He tells you. "And I know she can be a little... forward, but I swear to you, she never crossed the line. I'd have cut her off the second she tried anything."

Letting out a huff, you look away from him.

"I love you," Bucky says, squeezing you tightly in his grip. "I love you so, so much. And I can't wait to see your face tomorrow."

"Y'know what I want most for my birthday?" You turn and ask him, to which he nods eagerly.

"Anything," He replies instantly. "Name it and it's yours, my love."

"For her to be gone," You tell him bluntly. "Out of New York."

He laughs, but you're not joking. "Fairy, I know it isn't ideal, but I need to finish this deal with her," He explains. "Just one more week, and Chicago will be putty in my hands. And then I never have to see her again."

Maintaining your glare, you sigh. "Fine. Whatever," You huff.

"Now, what was it you were saying about me being yours?" Bucky asks, nestling his face in your neck. "What did you call me, again? Your property? Your piece of meat?"

Your hands rest on top of his which stroke your hips, and he pressed soft kisses to your neck, not stopping until you let out a moan, at which point you can feel his grin again your skin.

"Why don't you prove it, fairy?"

eek sorry to cockblock but this was getting reallllly long (also writing smut feels like a chore rn)

hope you enjoyed this installment! also someone requested a jealous!bucky which I'm SO EXCITED TO WRITE so stay tuned for that <3

series masterlist

i no longer have a taglist, follow @kinanabinksupdates and turn on notifications for updates.