#maybe this is something to bring up in therapy

[iamleesi]

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐓 ☠︎

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝟑𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟, 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟. 18+

𝐀/𝐍: 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 '𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄' 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭. 𝐀𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧. 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬... 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝. 𝐓𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐭. 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝟏𝟎𝟎% 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!

-> [ 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ] [ 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝟮 ]

𝐶𝑂𝑅𝐴𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐸: "𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑑𝑜 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑤𝑎𝑦, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡'𝑠 𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒."

𓃠

She swears she can still hear his laugh sometimes. It's faint, just a shadow of sound in the back of her mind, but it's there. Fucked up, maybe, but that's how things were going. And more often than not, when she picks up her phone, her first instinct is still to call him. Just to hear his voice. Just to make sure he's okay. But he isn't okay. He isn't anything anymore.

Bucky is dead.

She remembers that last day as if it were yesterday, even though four months have passed. She woke up in his arms like she had every morning for the last three years, his warmth surrounding her in a way that made her feel like nothing in the world could touch them. After everything he had been through, after all the years of pain and fighting, he had finally retired. He was done trying to save the world, done putting his life at risk for someone else's battles. And he was happy with that choice.

They'd bought a little house far from the Avengers Compound, tucked away from the chaos. Not that they didn't love their friends - because they did - but the distance gave them peace. A chance to breathe, to live, to just be themselves, without the constant shadow of war hanging over their heads.

Alpine had come into their lives one afternoon when Bucky was walking home from therapy. A scrawny little white cat, mewling from the edge of a dumpster, had caught his attention. He didn't hesitate, scooping her up and bringing her home like it was the most natural thing in the world. He'd been so proud of that, of finding her, of giving her a safe place to heal. She loved that cat almost as much as she loved him and he loved calling himself a 'cat dad'. Because he always loved having the 'cat mom' by his side - just a thought that made him happy.

He'd been doing so well. Going to therapy not because someone told him to, but because he wanted to. Because he wanted to heal. And he was healing. He smiled more, he laughed more. He even let himself dream about the future - their future. He was starting to open up to the idea of having kids.

But then the call came.

Steve.

It was always Steve.

An emergency, he said. Something about a Russian organization - one that had picked up where Hydra had left off. They had created a group of genetically modified soldiers. Monsters, Steve called them, failed experiments with claws and fangs and things Steve hadn't even been able to describe over the phone.

Bucky didn't want to go. She didn't want him to go. But it was Steve. His best friend. The man who had fought for his freedom as fiercely as he could, and both her and Bucky knew that he would still be with Hydra if it wasn't for Captain America. He was the man Bucky trusted with his life, even now. Steve wouldn't have called if it wasn't absolutely necessary. And so, reluctantly, Bucky packed his things and left that morning, kissing her on the forehead as he promised to come back.

He didn't come back.

Not really. Surely not alive.

By the end of the night, he came back in a coffin.

Steve had been the one to tell her. He showed up at the house, his face pale and his shoulders heavy with a grief that almost matched her own. Almost. But when he started to speak, she couldn't hear him. She felt as though part of her soul had already been ripped out, and the words he said barely registered. The details of the mission, the sacrifice Bucky made to save Steve's life - it all blurred into a hollow roar in her ears.

What she couldn't ignore, though, was the ring.

Steve had handed it to her, his voice cracking as he explained what Bucky had planned. He'd been going to propose. That Sunday, just a few days after the mission, he'd planned the whole day. It was supposed to be the start of something new for them - a new chapter, a new promise.

Instead, it was the day of his funeral.

She didn't cry. She couldn't. The weight of it all was too much, pressing down on her chest until she couldn't even stand. Couldn't breathe. As the casket was lowered into the ground, all she could think about was crawling in there with him. Laying beside him, just one last time. Letting the earth close around them so they could be together forever - exactly as they planned, right? So there was nothing wrong with it.

Steve apologized, over and over, his voice cracking with guilt. "It should have been me." He said, again and again. And of course it should have been him, because Bucky had died to save him. But she couldn't bring herself to say it wasn't his fault. The words wouldn't come. Because deep down, some part of her - a small, bitter, angry part - blamed him.

What if Steve hadn't called? What if he had called someone else? What if Bucky had stayed home where he belonged? If it was selfish to think it, she didn't care. Her mind was full of what ifs - a constant, unrelenting loop of the life they could have had if only things had gone differently.

The condolences came after that. The pity.

Natasha showed up at the house, trying to get her to eat, to move, to live. Wanda also came often, trying to help with her grief, but she couldn't even bear to listen. Sam invited her to the boat, said it might be good to be around people, to get out of the house. But none of it mattered. She didn't want their help. She didn't want their understanding.

She wanted Bucky.

But Bucky was gone. Forever.

So she packed her things, took Alpine and left without telling anyone. She didn't know where she was going, and she didn't care. She just needed to be somewhere else. Somewhere far away.

That's how she ended up at the Pink Palace.

The landlord had called it that with a strange sort of pride, even though it was immediately followed by: "the last family who lived here moved away." He said. "Their kid disappeared. She was never found."

She hadn't cared about the story. It wasn't fancy, it wasn't welcoming, and it wasn't home. But it was cheap, isolated, and far, far away.

That was all she needed.

It was almost the end of November when she finally moved. She hadn't packed much - just the bare minimum. A few clothes shoved haphazardly into a bag, Alpine's golden carrier that took up most of the car's backseat, and a couple of books she wasn't even sure she wanted to read. Everything else she left behind, like she was shedding a life she didn't want to live anymore. She told herself it was enough. It had to be. For now, at the very least.

The inside of the house didn't make her feel any better. The previous owners had left everything: the scuffed furniture, the old kitchen with its peeling cabinets, the faint smell of something sour that no amount of scrubbing could erase. She didn't bring much to make it feel like hers, either, so it just sat there, hollow and untouched, as if waiting for the family that had abandoned it to return. Or their kid. Poor soul.

She thought maybe that was why she hated it so much—the emptiness. Every room felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for her to do something, and she couldn't. All she could do was drag herself out of bed when Alpine meowed for food or when her stomach twisted painfully enough to force her into the kitchen.

Alpine, at least, was always there. She never left her side, trailing her through the house like a small, silent shadow. She'd curl up beside her on the bed at night, or perch on the armrest of the couch when she finally managed to sit down. The little cat had always been attached to her, but now it felt different - like she was waiting for someone, too. She'd catch Alpine sitting by the front door sometimes, staring at it as if she expected Bucky to walk through it at any moment.

It made her chest ache. She'd lean down, scratch behind Alpine's ears, and whisper, "I miss him too." The cat would purr softly, pressing her head into her hand, and for a moment, she'd feel like someone understood. It wasn't much, but it was all she had left.

She told herself the move was a good idea. That leaving was the only way she'd ever get out from under the weight of her grief. Back home, everything reminded her of Bucky: the friends who couldn't look at her without apologizing, the apartment they'd picked out together, the diner down the street where they used to go to all the time. Here, no one knew her. No one looked at her with pity in their eyes or offered their sympathy with awkward smiles. She thought that would help.

It didn't.

Every day felt worse than the last. Maybe it was because she hadn't spoken to another person since she got here - her phone was constantly buzzing, full of texts and calls she wouldn't answer. She ignored all of it. Talking felt impossible, like a mountain she didn't have the strength to climb. Alpine was the only one who heard her voice anymore, and even then, it was barely more than a whisper.

Or, maybe, it was the house itself. The Pink Palace was old, worn-down in a way that no fresh coat of paint could hide. The windows rattled when the wind picked up, and the floorboards creaked no matter how carefully she walked. At night, the noises were worse: the faint scratching of rats in the walls, the groan of the pipes settling. Sometimes, she thought she heard whispers - soft, almost imperceptible - but she always told herself it was just her imagination.

The landlord had warned her about the neighbors, but she hadn't thought much of it at the time. There was the old man upstairs, a veteran who talked to rats like they were his comrades, and two old women who lived down the hall. She hadn't met any of them, and she didn't plan to. Their voices filtered through the thin walls often enough, though - his low muttering at night, their loud bursts of laughter and show tunes during the day. They annoyed her in a way she couldn't quite put into words. It wasn't just their presence; it was the reminder that life was still going on around her, that the world hadn't stopped just because hers had.

She told herself it was fine. That she just needed time. Time to grieve, to heal, to figure out how to keep going without Bucky. But the truth was, she didn't know how to move forward. She didn't even know if she wanted to. Every breath felt like a betrayal, every day another reminder that he was gone and she wasn't.

Now, she was in the kitchen and it was cold. Not unbearably so, but just enough that she rubbed her arms absentmindedly as she poured herself a bowl of chocolate cereal. It was one of the only things she could stomach these days, simple and sweet. The carton of milk was already sweating from how long she'd left it out, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The house was quiet except for the clink of her spoon against the bowl, the kind of silence that wasn't peaceful but heavy, like it had weight to it.

Alpine's eyes were on her back. She could feel them, even without turning around. "Baby, you already ate." She said, glancing over her shoulder at the little cat perched primly on the counter. "Don't look at me like that. You know I might give in."

Alpine tilted her head, her expression perfectly calculated to elicit guilt. Little fucker, she thought, even as the corner of her mouth twitched into something close to a smile. She knew exactly what she was doing - always did. But it was winter, and cats ate more around this time, so maybe she couldn't entirely blame her.

"Fine." She muttered, reaching up to scratch under Alpine's chin. "But not now. Later. Your dad spoiled you too much, I fear."

Alpine blinked, and the look she gave her felt suspiciously like victory.

She leaned against the counter, eating her cereal slowly. Her outfit didn't help with the cold - just an old pair of sweatpants that might have been Bucky's once, back when things were new and stealing his clothes was her favorite habit, and a faded One Direction t-shirt that clung a little awkwardly now. She'd run out of clean clothes two days ago and hadn't yet worked up the energy to deal with it. The laundry, like everything else, could wait.

She was vaguely aware she should care more about the mess she'd already made of the house. The sink was piling up with dishes, and the laundry basket was overflowing in the corner of the bedroom. She hadn't even checked if the washing machine worked - hell, she hadn't gone near the basement where it was only supposed to be. Every time she passed the stairs that led down there, her eyes would catch on the picture hanging on the wall above it: an old, ugly framed photo of a boy holding an ice cream cone. It wasn't creepy in a traditional sense, but there was something about it that unnerved her. She kept telling herself to take it down, but every time she tried, her hands faltered halfway there. Overreacting? Probably. But it didn't stop her.

She was halfway through the bowl - her last clean one, naturally - when she heard it.

The scratching was faint at first, just a tiny noise against the wall or maybe the floor, but it was enough to make her freeze. Alpine noticed it, too; her head jerked toward the sound, ears twitching. For a long moment, they both stayed perfectly still, listening.

When it came again, louder this time, she tossed her spoon onto the table with a little too much force. The clang it made was sharp, startling in the quiet room. Alpine shot her a look, her wide green eyes unimpressed but resigned, used to her mood swings by now. It had been four months and she still had a lifetime to go.

Her immediate thought was rats. It had to be. The man upstairs with his weird rat obsession was starting to drive her insane. She'd kept her mouth shut because, honestly, what was the point? If they stayed outside, she could deal. But clearly, they weren't staying outside anymore.

Her frustration mounted as she stalked toward the living room, bare feet cold against the hardwood. It was a mess of unused furniture, the kind that looked like it had been here forever, all draped in white sheets that made the room look like a graveyard. She flipped the light switch, and the old bulb overhead flickered a couple of times before settling into a dull, yellow glow.

She scanned the room, her eyes darting to every shadow and corner, but there was nothing. The scratching had stopped the moment she stepped in.

"Great, am I going crazy?" She muttered, crossing her arms. Alpine padded into the room behind her, her little white paws silent against the floor. The cat stopped a few feet away, head tilted up, watching her with an expression that bordered on curiosity - maybe even concern, if cats could feel that. After a moment, Alpine glanced around the room herself, eyes scanning the corners like she was also checking for intruders.

"Unless there's a secret door around here..." She said, her voice dry. "We have no rats. Maybe we both are going crazy, Al. We need friends. I saw a black cat outside earlier - maybe you'd like him? But then again, you don't like anyone, do you?"

Alpine blinked at her, slow and deliberate, as if to say, I tolerate you, don't I?

"Right. You do." She said, sighing as she gave the room one last look. "You could do your cat things, you know? Go find the rat or the squirrel or... whatever was making that noise. Isn't that, like, your job?"

Alpine, ever the queen of unbothered, blinked slowly at her before leaping onto one of the covered chairs. She circled once, twice, and plopped down in the dead center like she owned the place.

"Oh, I see how it is." She said, gesturing vaguely toward the corner of the room. "I'll just go check it out myself, then. You stay there, Your Majesty. Don't strain yourself."

There were no rats around, no weird animals sneaking through the house - just the occasional spider in the corner. Sure, they were unsettling (spiders were spiders, after all), but they didn't scratch walls or skitter across floors loud enough to wake her up. She was still absolutely convinced one of her neighbor's stupid rats had managed to crawl into her house, but those little guys knew how to hide. She didn't have any traps, didn't feel like running to the hardware store to get some, and frankly, she couldn't bring herself to care enough to chase them down.

So, she went to bed. Or rather, she tried to.

Her body felt heavy with exhaustion, but her mind refused to shut up. It was like that most nights - crying herself into something halfway between sleep and pure misery. She wasn't sure what time it was when her eyes shot open. 2 a.m.? 3 a.m.? It didn't matter. The house was silent except for the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

And then, there it was again. The scratching.

She tried to ignore it, rolling onto her side and pulling the blanket up to her neck. But now it sounded like two sets of paws scratching. Or maybe three. A chorus of little claws, just loud enough to make her want to scream into her pillow.

That was it. She threw the blanket off and got out of bed, Alpine letting out a disgruntled mrrp from her spot at the foot of the mattress. The cat yawned and stretched like she was coming off a twelve-hour shift and had no intention of working overtime, then promptly curled up again.

"Thanks for the backup, Al." She muttered under her breath, her steps loud against the creaking floor as she headed for the stairs.

The house was mostly in the darkness, the moonlight spilling through the windows just enough to see by. She didn't bother flipping on the lights - she didn't need to. Her legs carried her straight to the living room, and her hand reached out for the switch before she even had to think about it.

And there they were.

Two rats, scratching at the wall right behind the couch, their little bodies half-hidden by one of the white sheets still draped over the furniture. She stared at them, her lips pressing into a tight line.

"I knew I wasn't crazy. Not yet, anyway."

The rats didn't even flinch at her voice, too busy clawing at the wall. She frowned. Clearly, she hadn't thought this through: no traps, no plan, just righteous indignation and a pair of rats that didn't seem to give a single damn about her existence.

"Okay." She mumbled, taking a step back. "Fine. Stay there, little guys, don't move. I'm going for Plan B."

The kitchen. Maybe there was something useful there. She left the rats to their scratching and marched down the hall, pulling open cabinets and drawers with a single-minded focus. She wasn't entirely sure what she was looking for - maybe some old traps left behind by the previous owners. The smell of mold hit her first, making her wrinkle her nose as she dug through the shit that had been left behind.

Nothing. Nothing but useless, stupid junk.

She opened another drawer, and that's when she saw them: keys.

Dozens of them.

She stared down at them, her hand hovering over the strange collection. They were all different sizes and colors, most looking as old as the house itself. Some were rusted beyond repair, others shiny and new, but none of them made sense. There weren't enough doors in this house to justify half of these keys, let alone all of them.

One caught her eye, standing out from the rest.

It was different - heavier, more ornate, with a handle that curved into an odd shape. The other side of the key wasn't jagged like the rest but smooth, and there was something unusual about the tip of the handle. It was round, like a small button.

"Particular. Particularly ugly." She muttered, turning it over in her hand. Maybe it was a toy? Some part of a playset the previous owner's kid had lost and forgotten. It wouldn't have surprised her; the house was practically a time capsule of neglected junk. Herself included.

She felt Alpine brush past her leg, but before she could think more about the strange key, the sound of scratching came again. This time louder, more insistent. The rats.

"Stay here, Alpine. Mama has work to do." She mumbled to herself, shoving the key absentmindedly into her sweatpants pocket and leaving the drawer open behind her. She followed the noise back to the living room, muttering under her breath about how tired she was of this nonsense.

The two culprits were still there, busy clawing away at the wall behind the couch. She stopped in the doorway and folded her arms, glaring at them like they might actually respond.

"I'm not even sure I have edible food anymore." She said aloud, her voice as dry as ever. "So if you're looking for that, you're in the wrong house. Go annoy someone else."

The rats didn't flinch, still focused on whatever had their attention. She tilted her head, studying them. They weren't looking for food, not really. They weren't sniffing the air or scurrying around. They seemed fixated on something - like they were trying to get to it.

She took a cautious step forward. "Alright, Ratatouille." She said, her tone edged with exasperation. "Move. Let me see what's so important to you. But then you have to leave, this is not some hotel for wild animals."

The moment she approached, the rats scattered, darting away with tiny squeaks and disappearing into the shadows. Typical. She sighed, shaking her head, and turned her attention to the wall.

The couch was pressed tightly against it, but there wasn't anything unusual about the spot - at least, not at first glance. She stepped closer, gripping the edges of the sheet-covered furniture and giving it a hard tug to drag it out of the way. Dust puffed into the air, and she coughed, waving a hand in front of her face.

And then she saw it.

At first, she thought it was just another patch of peeling wallpaper, but the more she looked, the clearer it became. There was a faint outline in the wall - small and rectangular, no bigger than a cupboard door. It blended into the faded wallpaper almost perfectly, as if it wasn't meant to be noticed.

"What the-." She whispered, her brow furrowing as she crouched down. She reached out, her fingers brushing over the edges. It felt solid beneath her touch, though her nails caught on the subtle grooves around the frame. A door.

The realization sent a chill down her spine, though she didn't know why. It was just a door, wasn't it? Probably a storage compartment or something for the plumbing. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But if it was nothing out of the ordinary, then why did her heart rate accelerate? She knelt there, staring at the faint outline, her fingers brushing over it again as if to prove it was real. It was small - just enough for a child to walk through without ducking.

The edges of her mind filled with half-formed theories she didn't want to entertain. What if this door had been here all along, hidden under layers of wallpaper? What if that kid had found it first? Stop it, she told herself firmly, shaking her head. The story didn't matter. What mattered was that it was here, and now so was she.

Her hand drifted to her pocket, fingers brushing against the cool metal of the key she'd shoved in earlier. She frowned, her chest tightening. What if it works?

The thought made her hesitate. Opening the door felt like crossing a line she couldn't uncross, but curiosity stirred inside her anyway. That curiosity - it was something she'd always had, even when it got her in trouble. Bucky used to tease her about it all the time, it was something he loved about her.

And so, before she even knew it, she pressed the key into the faint hole at its center. Her heart thudded in her chest as she twisted. It caught for a moment, then turned smoothly, like it had been waiting for her all along.

The faintest click echoed in the silence. It worked.

She didn't exactly know what to expect. Her mind cycled through possibilities, each one more ridiculous than the last: a family of rats scurrying around like they paid rent, a skeleton tucked away like some dark secret, or maybe just bricks sealing off the passage altogether. A tunnel? That wasn't even on her radar.

But there it was. A tunnel, impossibly strange and bathed in shifting lights - purple, blue, magenta - all swirling together like something out of a dream. She blinked hard, then again, just to make sure her exhausted brain wasn't playing tricks on her. The colors didn't fade. They seemed to ripple against the walls, smooth and alive in a way that made her skin prickle.

She looked over her shoulder at the living room. It sat there, ordinary and lifeless, the same sad space it had been since she'd arrived one week ago. She glanced back at the tunnel. The air inside seemed thicker somehow, shimmering faintly like heat rising off asphalt. She squinted, trying to see where it led, but the light bent strangely, making it impossible to tell.

She should've closed it. She knew she should've closed it. Slam the door shut, throw the key into the nearest lake, and maybe burn the whole house down for good measure. Whatever was inside that tunnel didn't belong in any version of the real world she understood.

But then again, what part of her life ever had?

Her chest tightened as she thought of her friends - if she could even call them that anymore. A witch, a talking raccoon, the god of thunder, and a billionaire with a good heart. Her world had been full of strange, impossible things for years. Magic wasn't just real; she'd seen it firsthand. Aliens existed. Some Guardians of the Galaxy also existed. People flew and moved mountains and bent reality to their will.

Strange doesn't always mean bad, she thought, swallowing hard.

That reasoning didn't stop her palms from sweating as she reached out, fingers brushing the edges of the opening. Crawling into it felt ridiculous and dangerous all at once, but the longer she stood there, the more her curiosity pulled at her - fuck it. It surely couldn't be worse that the grief she was feeling.

She winced as she leaned forward, testing the space, her shoulders brushing the sides. It was tighter than she liked, but manageable if she stayed low. The tunnel smelled faintly of damp stone and something else she couldn't place.

She couldn't stop now, not with how close she felt to... something. What, she didn't know. Crawling forward, her knees and palms scraped against the hard surface, her muscles starting to ache. The tunnel felt endless, and the air was so still it made her ears ring. She had no idea how far she'd gone, and when she tried to glance over her shoulder, the tight space made it impossible to look back.

She groaned under her breath, cursing herself for crawling into a place she didn't understand, but just as the panic started to creep in, her head bumped into something solid.

Her hand shot forward, feeling the cool, grainy surface of wood. She froze, her heart thundering in her chest as her fingers fumbled until they found the faint outline of a handle. For a moment, she just knelt there. Did she really want to know what was on the other side? Probably not. But she was here now, so what else could she do?

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open.

The smell hit her first - warm and familiar, like cinnamon. She blinked, stunned, as she crawled out and stood, brushing off her pants. For a second, all she could do was stare.

She was in the living room again.

But it wasn't her living room. At least, not the one she remembered crawling away from. The place looked new, like it belonged in a magazine. The furniture wasn't covered in old sheets anymore, the floors gleamed like it had just been polished, and the walls (painted in colors she loved but never had the energy to pick out herself) looked clean and bright. The TV was on, playing a cooking show she didn't recognize, and the whole room felt warm, like someone had been living there all along.

Her chest tightened as she took it all in. This had to be some kind of dream, right? It was too perfect. She rubbed her arm hard, trying to snap herself out of it, but nothing changed. She pinched her skin next, just to be sure. Still nothing.

She drifted toward the kitchen, her legs shaky beneath her. And that's when she saw him.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was Bucky.

His back was to her, but she'd know him anywhere, in any shape or form or lifetime. His shoulders were broad, his hair tied back in a low bun like he used to wear it when they stayed in together. He was at the stove, cooking something - probably whatever smelled so good - and he was humming. She could hear him clearly, the tune instantly recognizable: It's Been a Long, Long Time. Her hands clutched at the doorframe as her heart hammered in her chest.

It didn't make sense.

It couldn't make sense.

But he was there. Breathing and alive.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but no sound came out. She just stared, watching him as he moved like he belonged there, like he hadn't been gone for months. Like nothing had ever happened.

He spoke without turning around, his voice warm and familiar, the sound of it wrapping around her like a hug. "Took you long enough to find me, doll."

Her legs almost gave out.

"Bucky?" She whispered, barely able to get the word out.

He chuckled softly, turning to face her. "Who else?"

Her heart lurched in her chest - then stopped entirely.

Because when he turned, it wasn't his warm blue eyes staring back at her.

It was two shiny black buttons.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing ragged as her hand flew up to cover her mouth. She didn't know if it was to stop herself from screaming or from throwing up, but the nausea hit her in waves. Those buttons were sewn into his eyes: thick, uneven stitches held them in place, and the skin around them was raw and red, like it hurt just to exist.

Her entire body shook as she backed up a step, then froze when he took one toward her.

"Hey, hey." He murmured softly, his voice like velvet, so familiar it made her chest ache. His hand reached out, brushing against hers. His touch was light, gentle, and for a second she softened.

Her lips trembled as she avoided looking at him, tears pooling under her lashes. This was him, wasn't it? The man she loved. The man she'd lost. The way his fingers slid against her skin, the way he leaned in like he wanted to shield her from the world -  it was all so painfully familiar.

"I know what you must be thinking." He said, his other hand brushing against her chin, tilting her face up toward him. His thumb traced her jaw, soft and deliberate, the way it always had when he wanted to comfort her. "I'm dead, technically. In the other world. Here, now, I'm here, baby. And here I am meant to stay, with you. Open your pretty eyes for me."

Her breath hitched, and she dared to open her eyes again.

And he was there. He looked just the same, apart from the obvious absence of the blue eyes she'd fallen in love with. The messy stubble on his jaw, the faint scar on his cheek, the way his lips curved into the softest smile - it was all him.

"I..." Her voice cracked, and she had to swallow hard before trying again. "How is this possible?"

"Does it matter?" His smile widened, but it didn't reach those dark, empty... well, buttons. "Touch me. Feel me. This is real, I'm real, my love. Doesn't matter how, we can have our second chance."

Her knees felt weak, like her body was fighting against her own disbelief. She wanted to collapse, to wake up from this nightmare, but instead, she found herself reaching for his face. Her hand trembled as she hovered just short of his cheek, afraid to touch him, afraid to feel if he was real.

He leaned into her hand anyway, guiding her fingers against his skin. It was warm. Soft. Real.

"It's okay." He whispered, his voice dripping with reassurance. "I know it's weird, I know it's painful, but you'll get used to it if you wish to stay. With me, forever. As we planned, do you remember?"

Her throat felt tight, like she was swallowing glass. "I... I do, but your eyes-"

He cut her off gently, his hand moving to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Shh. Don't worry about that. You don't have to think about anything now. You're home, sweetheart. That's all that matters."

He took her hand in his, brushing his lips softly against her knuckles the way he always had. It was such a simple gesture, yet her lower lip trembled despite herself. She was stupid, she knew that. Stupid for letting her guard down, for leaning toward him like this. It was fucked up - completely, utterly fucked up.

Four months. Four agonizing months of endless crying, of sleepless nights consumed by thoughts of him. She'd wanted him back so desperately that she'd prayed to gods she didn't even believe in, hoping for one of them - if they existed - to bring him home. They didn't need him, she did. And when that didn't work, she had begged Death herself, tempting fate one reckless night after another, daring her to take her too.

But no one answered.

And yet, here he was.

It wasn't her Bucky, not really. She knew that. Deep down, she knew. But it was something. And the broken, yearning part of her - by far the loudest - shoved aside every concern, every alarm, and clung to the scraps he offered. She followed him as he led her to the table, where all her favorite foods waited, the centerpiece being those cinnamon rolls only he could make.

Because despite everything, Bucky Barnes had always been an incredible cook.

"I've been waiting for you for a long time." He said, his voice warm but edged with something she couldn't quite place. "In this... other world." He paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "I took my time to make everything perfect for you. For us. So we could keep living our life the way we always wanted. Before... you know. The mission."

She swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the table. Her heart clenched painfully at the memory, but she forced herself to look at him. And his plate, which was empty.

Not his eyes - she couldn't. Those black, unblinking buttons unsettled her in a way she couldn't articulate. Instead, her focus drifted to his lips, to the familiar curve of his smile, trying to anchor herself to the parts of him that still felt like him.

"How... how does this even work?" She asked, her voice unsteady. "Is this a parallel universe? Doctor Strange said something about a multiverse once but I didn’t pay attention.”

He tilted his head slightly, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "No, not a multiverse. But call it a parallel universe if that's what makes sense to you." He said, his tone light, like they were discussing the weather. Then his smile widened, his expression softening. "I call it the Other World. I'm the Other Bucky."

Her chest tightened at his words. Other Bucky? The phrase sounded so wrong. She bit her lip, her hands curling into fists in her lap as she tried to process it.

"You're... not my Bucky?" She whispered, her voice trembling.

“Not quite.” His smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he leaned closer, reaching out to take her hand in his again. His touch was so familiar, so gentle, it sent a shiver down her spine. "I'm still your Bucky, sweetheart." He said, his voice dripping with sincerity. "Maybe not the one you lost. But I love you just the same. Isn't that enough?"

Her throat felt tight, and tears blurred her vision. She wanted to scream that no, it wasn't enough. That nothing could ever replace the Bucky she'd lost, the one she'd loved more than anything in the world. But when she looked at him again, at the way he held her hand so tenderly, the way he spoke with so much conviction, the fight drained out of her.

"Do you... do you remember our first Christmas together?" She asked, her voice hesitant, almost fragile. Her thumb traced the back of his hand, an old habit she had when she felt nervous. "When I told you I wanted a Christmas tree, and you got one by the end of the day?"

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, the sound so achingly familiar that it sent a pang through her chest. "How could I forget? You were so determined to make it perfect. I stole it, by the way. From Tony's personal collection at the Compound."

She smiled. "I know. Tony told me a couple of days later."

"Yeah, well..." He raised an eyebrow with a sly grin. "He caught me hauling it out and almost blasted me. I think he only let me keep it because he knew it was for you. Though he made me suffer for weeks after."

She couldn't help the small, genuine smile that crept onto her face. It sounded so much like the man she'd loved - his mischief, his stubbornness. "That sounds exactly like something he would do." She said softly.

Encouraged, she pushed forward, testing him. "And... do you remember when you brought Alpine home? You got her that little blanket. Do you remember which one?"

His button eyes seemed to glint with something she couldn't name, if that was even possible, but the smile on his lips didn't waver. "The Captain America one." He said without hesitation. "She hated it at first, but you swore it made her look cozy. I remember everything, doll. Every little detail."

She felt her throat tighten again, nodding. He was telling the truth.

"You're testing me, aren't you?" He asked, tilting his head, his voice carrying no edge of offense, only understanding.

"I... yes. I'm sorry." She whispered, dropping her gaze.

"No, baby, it's perfectly fine." He reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers lightly, sandwiching her hand between both of his. She flinched, but only slightly. His touch still felt so warm, so human. "I understand. I'd do the same if I were in your shoes."

She risked a glance at him, and his smile softened, becoming something almost unbearably tender. "I don't blame you for doubting this." He said, his voice low. "For doubting me. You've been through hell. You've lost more than anyone should ever have to. And yet, here you are, strong enough to sit across from me and look for the truth."

Her hand trembled slightly beneath his. "Bucky-"

"I'm not just saying this because I want you to believe me." He interrupted gently. "I'm saying this because I need you and I love you. I loved you then, I love you now, and I'll keep loving you, no matter what world we're in of what choice you made. No matter what it takes. I didn't wait all this time just to lose you again."

His words hit her like a blow to the chest, raw and piercing. Tears stung her eyes, and for a moment, she let herself lean into the illusion, into the hope that maybe this was real, that maybe she'd been given another chance in that weird way. Maybe that was the answer from the Gods she was waiting for.

"Bucky." She whispered again, her voice breaking. "I've missed you so much."

"I know, doll." He said, leaning closer, pressing his forehead against hers. "But I'm here now. That's all that matters. You don't have to carry the pain anymore. Let me do that for you."

Tears pricked her eyes again as he talked, his voice like a balm she hadn't realized she'd missed so much. He told her how long he'd been waiting for her, how lonely he'd been in this perfect world he claimed to have created just for her. His words wrapped around her like a warm blanket, even as a sliver of unease twisted deep in her chest.

She could only squeeze his hand tighter. She sat with him, eating as he poured her wine, laughing softly at his jokes even though she barely heard them. It was so easy to fall into this rhythm, to let herself believe him.

But that small, stubborn voice in the back of her mind was screaming at her. Begging her. Pleading with her to see. To crawl back through that door to the real world, to grieve, to heal, to move on. Because whatever this was, it wasn't normal. It wasn't right. It was dark and twisted, and somewhere deep inside, she knew that.

But then he smiled at her again.

And just like that, she smiled back.

[emjayewrites]

in between the lines • jules kounde (4/4)

SYNOPSIS: At Zuri’s engagement party, Senait meets her best friend’s fiancé, Aurélien, and his friend, Jules. A spontaneous hookup with Jules sparks undeniable chemistry, but when Senait ghosts him afterward, she finds herself wrestling with her insecurities as the casual fling begins shifting into something deeper.

PAIRINGS: Jules Koundé x Senait Kiros (@/subanbrn)

WARNINGS: football b.s., cursing, smut, drama, mentions of cheating/past relationships, dominant!jules, instant attraction/fast development. MINORS DNI (18+)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @vile-harlot @perfecttrashface @queenshikongo3 @2serenity0 @saturnville @sinflowersugar @hotfudgeslug @muglermami @serpenttines-library @sucredreamer @julescpu @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @greedyjudge2 @peyiswriting @127hydrangeas @rosiesdior @whoevenisthiz

A/N: Gif by @doinggreat

Not having a return flight felt both terrifying and exhilarating. Senait lay in Jules' bed, watching shadows play across the ceiling as sunlight filtered through the curtains. Her phone hadn't buzzed with work emergencies for the first time in three years. No crisis meetings, no client demands, no Greg's passive-aggressive emails.

Just... freedom.

Scary, overwhelming freedom.

Jules had insisted she take the day to rest, popping in between his training sessions to check on her. Each time he'd find a different way to make her smile – bringing her favorite snacks, curling around her for quick naps, even convincing Maurice to perform an impromptu concert.

"You're hovering," she'd accused during one such visit.

"I'm caring," he'd corrected, pressing a kiss to her temple before heading back to training.

Now, as evening slowly approached, Senait could smell something amazing wafting from the kitchen. She found Jules at the stove, looking so sexy in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Sit," he commanded, nodding toward the counter. "I have something for you."

"Jules..."

But he was already pulling out a carefully wrapped package. Inside, Senait found a collection of high-end calligraphy supplies – inks, nibs, and papers she'd only dreamed of working with.

"I did some research," Jules said, watching her face. "These are the good ones, right?"

Senait ran her fingers over the supplies, emotion catching in her throat. "They're perfect. But Jules, I can't—"

"Let me help," he interrupted softly. "Not because you need it, but because I want to. Because I believe in you."

She kissed him then, trying to pour all her gratitude and confusion and hope into it. Jules responded immediately, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until they were both breathless.

"So," he murmured against her lips, "when are you going to make an honest man out of me?"

Senait froze. "What?"

Jules pulled back slightly, studying her face. "We've known each other for almost two months. Things are moving fast – which I'm not complaining about – but maybe it's time to make it official."

"I... I just quit my job," Senait stammered. "And now you want..."

"A commitment? Yes." His hands stayed on her waist, grounding her even as panic fluttered in her chest. "Why does that scare you so much?"

"Because!" She pulled away, needing space to think. "Everything's changing so fast. I need... I need to figure things out first."

"Like what?"

"Like therapy," she admitted quietly. "Like dealing with these walls I've built. Like not fucking this up because I'm too scared to let anyone in."

"You're so fucking stubborn," Jules said, but there was fondness mixed with his frustration. "You think I don't see your walls? Your fears? I'm still here, Senait."

"I know." She wrapped her arms around herself. "And I want... I want to try. With you. But I need to do this right. I need to work on myself first."

Jules was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Go to therapy. Work on yourself." He stepped closer, tucking a curl behind her ear. "I'll be here. But don't use it as an excuse to keep running."

Senait leaned into his touch. "I'm trying not to."

"I know, chérie." He kissed her forehead. "Now eat before the food gets cold."

_______________________________________________

Madrid held different memories for Senait now – her first visit for Zuri's engagement party months ago felt like another lifetime compared to being here for El Clásico. The energy around the match was electric, filling every corner of the city.

She met Zuri in the hotel lobby, where her friend was waiting with a woman Senait instantly recognized from social media – Lila Hamilton.

"Finally!" Zuri exclaimed, hugging Senait. "You guys didn’t get the chance to meet at the engagent party but Lila, this is my best friend, Senait. Sen, meet Lila – Lewis' sister and Jude's better half."

Lila's smile was warm, her British accent elegant as she said, "Heard so much about you. Zuri says you're the one who finally tamed Jules?"

"I wouldn't say tamed," Senait laughed. "More like... reached a mutual understanding."

"With Jules?" Lila raised an eyebrow. "That's practically the same thing."

The three women clicked immediately. Senait found herself drawn to Lila's dry humor and genuine warmth. It was clear why she and Zuri had become such close friends – they shared the same straightforward approach to life.

"So you're actually supporting Barcelona?" Lila asked as they made their way to the Bernabéu, noting Senait's scarf. "Brave, considering you're walking in with two Madrid supporters."

"Trust me, I'm as surprised as you are," Senait admitted. "But apparently I have... priorities."

"Jules being one of them?" Zuri teased.

"Jules being the only one," Lila corrected with a knowing smile.

The Santiago Bernabéu was a different beast than the Olympic Stadium. Senait felt the electricity in the air, the tension between the two sets of fans palpable even as she followed Zuri and Lila to their seats.

"Ready for your first Clásico?" Lila asked, adjusting her Real Madrid scarf.

Senait fingered her own scarf – one of Jules' that she'd stolen despite her protests about not being a "football girlfriend." But here she was, heart racing every time she caught sight of him warming up on the pitch.

The match itself was intense. Senait found herself on her feet more often than not, shouting things she barely understood but feeling them deeply. When Jules made a particularly brilliant play, she screamed his name without thinking, earning knowing smirks from both Zuri and Lila.

Barcelona's dominance was clear from the start. Each goal felt like a physical rush, the away section erupting in celebration. Senait watched Jules' confident movements, the way he controlled the midfield, and felt a surge of pride she wasn't quite ready to examine.

By the time the final whistle blew at 0-4, Senait's voice was hoarse from shouting. She linked arms with Zuri and Lila as they made their way down the stadium steps, the Barcelona fans' victory chants echoing around them.

"Never thought I'd see the day," Zuri teased, nudging her. "You really are Jules' number one fan now, huh?"

Senait rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress her smile. "Don't get used to it. It's a one-time thing," she quipped, though she couldn't help glancing toward the tunnel where the players would emerge.

The wait seemed endless. Senait watched as Aurélien appeared first, his disappointment evident despite his dignified bearing. Zuri immediately went to him, wrapping him in a comforting embrace. Then Jude, his frustration clear as Lila quietly led him away.

And then Jules – still radiating that quiet confidence she'd come to associate with him, his eyes finding her immediately in the crowd. Heat pooled in her belly at the look he gave her, pride and possession and promise all mixed together.

"Enjoyed the show?" he asked, pulling her close despite her token protest about his sweaty state.

"You were adequate," she deadpanned, but her smile gave her away.

Back at the hotel room later, a celebration took a more private turn. Jules had her pressed against the door almost before it closed, his hands possessive on her hips.

"Been wanting to do this since I saw you in my scarf," he growled against her neck.

"Is that why you let me steal it?" Senait gasped as his teeth found a sensitive spot. "Part of your master plan?"

"Everything's part of my master plan, chérie."

And maybe it was. Maybe this had all been inevitable from the moment she'd met his eyes at Zuri's engagement party. Maybe all her running had just been delaying the inevitable.

Later, curled into his side, pleasantly sore and completely satisfied, Senait traced patterns on his chest. "I made an appointment," she said quietly.

Jules' hand paused in her hair. "For therapy?"

She nodded. "Found someone who specializes in relationship trauma. She's got great reviews."

"I'm proud of you." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "When?"

"Next week. Virtual session." She propped herself up to look at him. "Is that okay? Me staying in Barcelona but..."

"Working on yourself?" He smiled. "More than okay. Though I warn you – Maurice might try to join your sessions. He's very interested in psychology."

Senait laughed, the sound free and genuine. "Your rooster is a menace."

"Our rooster."

She tensed slightly at that, but not in fear. More in... anticipation. Because 'our' didn't sound as scary as it used to.

"One step at a time," Jules murmured, clearly reading her reaction. "No pressure. Just... possibility."

Senait settled back against him, letting his heartbeat steady her. "I like possibilities."

"Good." His hand resumed its gentle stroking of her hair. "Because I have quite a few in mind."

As she drifted off to sleep, Senait thought about how different this felt from every other relationship she'd had. How Jules pushed without pressuring, supported without suffocating. How he saw her walls but didn't try to break them down – just waited patiently for her to build doors instead.

Maybe that's what real love was supposed to feel like. Not the desperate clinging she'd had with Tymir, not the constant fear of not being enough. But this – this steady warmth, this gentle strength, this quiet certainty that whatever came next, they'd face it together.

One step at a time.

Two weeks after El Clásico, Senait sat cross-legged in Jules' home office, laptop balanced on her knees, finalizing another custom wedding signage order. Maurice strutted past the window, the speakers nearby playing what she swore was Vivaldi.

"Your taste in music is getting crazy, my guy," she called out to the rooster, who merely preened in response.

Her Etsy notifications kept pinging – the surge in orders since quitting her job felt almost cosmic. The universe's way of saying "about time" perhaps. She'd spent the morning researching web designers, knowing her business needed a proper site. Her makeshift Instagram business account already had a decent following, helped by Zuri's subtle promotions to her now-massive audience.

The call with her parents had been full of "I told you so" energy, but the loving kind. "See what happens when you finally listen to your mother?" her mom had teased. They were happy to see her actually living her life instead of just surviving it, even if that life currently involved a French footballer and living with him on a different continent.

The therapy sessions were helping too. Dr. Obazi had a way of making Senait see patterns she'd been blind to. "You're not afraid of success," she'd said in their first session. "You're afraid of deserving it."

That had hit home hard.

So had finally blocking Tymir on everything. She'd hesitated over the button for a moment, years of history making her finger pause. Then she'd remembered his comment on her photo, his casual assumption that he still had the right to her attention.

Click. Done.

"Better late than never," she'd muttered, and felt lighter immediately.

The past weekend in Paris had been surreal. Jules' friend Axel had thrown an elaborate Halloween party, and she'd found herself swept into Jules' inner circle. His Dracula costume had been simple but effective – all black with a dramatic cape and subtle fangs. She'd matched him as his bride, in a flowing white dress with intricate lace details, dark makeup, and artfully messy curls.

"We have the most predictable costumes," she'd teased.

"Sexy," he'd corrected, eyes darkening as he took in her outfit.

Meeting his friends had been surprisingly easy. Axel, with his easy charm and quick wit. Wilhelm, quieter but sharp as a tack. Hugo and Manuel, who treated her like they'd known her forever.

"So you're the one who's got Jules actually answering his phone," Hugo had teased.

"Someone has to keep him in line," she'd shot back, earning appreciative laughs.

The party had been a blur of expensive champagne and elaborate costumes. Jules had kept her close all night, his hands growing increasingly possessive as the alcohol flowed. What happened back in their hotel room... Senait felt heat rise to her cheeks just thinking about it. Jules, it turned out, was even more commanding when drunk, and she'd been more than happy to submit to his... demands.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her from the memory: The guys want to come over to watch game footage. That okay?

S: As riveting as that sounds... J: You can work in the office. Just want you near.

Simple. Direct. So Jules.

S: Fine. But I'm not watching football. J: You watched every minute of El Clásico. S: That was different. J: Because you're my biggest fan?

Senait smiled, remembering Zuri's teasing about the same thing. I'm hanging up now.

J: This is a text. S: Goodbye, Jules. J: See you in a bit, chérie.

A notification pinged – another order. A massive corporate client wanting custom place cards for their holiday party. The kind of order that could fund a proper website, maybe even a small studio space.

She was settling into a routine she'd never planned but couldn't imagine living without. Mornings with Maurice's concerts, days split between calligraphy work and exploring the city, evenings with Jules that usually ended tangled in his sheets.

Barcelona was beginning to feel like home. Her favorite café knew her order. The local art supply store kept her preferred inks in stock. Even Maurice had accepted her as part of his audience.

More than that, she was happy. Actually, genuinely happy. The kind of happiness that came from choosing yourself, from letting people in, from building something real.

She glanced around Jules' office – now unofficially hers too during work hours. Her calligraphy supplies had their own drawer, her laptop had a permanent spot on the desk, and she'd even added some plants to the space. Small changes that spoke of bigger ones.

The sound of the front door opening announced Jules' return. Soon the house would be full of his teammates, their animated conversations filling the space as they analyzed game footage. She'd pretend to be completely focused on work, but would probably end up watching anyway, just like she always did.

This was her life now. Not the one she'd planned, not the safe corporate path she'd thought she needed to follow. Instead, she had a growing business, a weekly therapy appointment, and a man who knew exactly when to push and when to be patient.

Jules appeared in the doorway of the office, fresh from training with slightly damp dreads. Just looking at him made something warm unfurl in Senait's chest – a feeling she was slowly learning not to fight.

"Hi," he said simply, crossing to where she sat.

"Hi yourself." She tilted her head up for his kiss, meaning to keep it brief. But Jules had other ideas, deepening the kiss until she was breathless.

"The guys will be here soon," she murmured against his lips.

"Mm. Ten minutes." His hand slid into her hair. "More than enough time."

"To do what exactly?"

His smirk was wicked. "To properly greet you."

Before she could respond, he'd pulled her up from her chair, pressing her against the desk. His hands found her hips, lifting her to sit on the edge.

"Jules—"

"Let me just..." He stepped between her legs.

Jules’ lips traced a line down her neck, making Senait shiver as he teased the sensitive skin just beneath her ear. His fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt dress, pushing it higher up her thighs until he had a full view of the lace panties she’d chosen that morning. She opened her mouth to protest, but the words turned to a sigh as his hands gripped her waist tighter.

"Just a quick one," he whispered, his voice low and rough, sending a thrill down her spine. His eyes were dark with desire, and Senait found herself nodding, anticipation already pooling within her.

Jules stepped back just long enough to fish something out of his pants pocket. Senait couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up when she saw it: a condom.

"You planned this," she accused, her laughter fading into a gasp as he slipped his hands under her thighs, dragging her closer to the edge of the desk.

"Always prepared," he murmured with a grin, dropping both his pants and boxers to lay around his ankles and then ripping open the foil packet. As he sheathed himself, his gaze stayed locked on hers, filled with heat and mischief. Senait's pulse quickened, her body already humming in anticipation.

With a firm tug, he pulled her panties to the side, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of her. He didn’t waste a moment, pressing into her slowly, making her toes curl. Senait clutched at his shoulders, the edge of the desk digging into the back of her thighs as Jules began to move, setting a fast, relentless pace.

"Fuck," she whispered, her breath coming in short, needy gasps. Jules had her pinned in place, one hand splayed across her lower back to keep her steady, the other gripping her thigh. The slight roughness of his fingertips, the way he filled her so perfectly, had her clenching around him, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through her.

He leaned forward, his mouth brushing her ear. "You feel so fucking good, chérie," he groaned, the strain in his voice making her core tighten. The office was filled with the sounds of their rushed, desperate joining—the rhythmic slap of skin on skin, the creak of the desk beneath them, and the breathless, incoherent sounds that slipped from Senait’s lips.

Her fingers tangled in his damp hair, pulling him in for a kiss, desperate to muffle her own cries as the pressure built inside her. Jules responded eagerly, swallowing her moans, his rhythm never faltering. The intensity of it all—the risk of being caught, the wild passion in his eyes, the feeling of him claiming her—had her teetering on the edge faster than she expected.

"I’m close," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rush of her heartbeat. Jules’ grip on her tightened, his hips snapping forward harder, his own breathing ragged.

"Let go for me," he urged, his voice thick with urgency. Senait’s body obeyed, pleasure exploding through her, making her shudder and cling to him as her climax washed over her. Jules followed soon after, his groan deep and satisfied as he buried himself in her one last time.

For a moment, they stayed like that, tangled together, breathing heavily. But the moment of bliss was broken by the sound of the doorbell ringing, echoing through the home.

"Shit," Senait whispered, her eyes wide. Jules pulled out of her with a grin, discarding the condom and adjusting his clothes swiftly.

"Go clean up," he said, smacking her ass as she wobbled off the desk, her legs still shaky. The playful sting of his hand made her yelp, and she shot him a glare over her shoulder.

"Asshole," she muttered, though she couldn’t keep the smile off her face. He just laughed, his expression smug and satisfied.

"Better hurry," he teased. "Don’t want the guys to see you looking all… well, like that."

Senait rolled her eyes, gathering herself and making her way out of the office and down the hallway. But the flush on her cheeks and the way her legs trembled with every step were undeniable reminders of what had just happened, and she couldn't stop the grin that spread across her lips.

In the bathroom, she caught sight of herself in the mirror – hair mussed, lips swollen, that unmistakable post-sex glow. The sound of voices grew louder – boisterous laughter as the guys settled in the living room.

After making herself presentable, Senait padded back to the office, settling in with her laptop. She tried to focus on her work, but found herself listening to Jules' voice among them, authoritative and sure as he discussed strategy.

This was her life now. And somehow, impossibly, it fit perfectly.

Sometimes Jules still couldn't believe how naturally Senait had integrated into his life. Watching her work in his home office, Maurice strutting past the window like a personal guard, felt right in a way he hadn't expected when this started.

Her therapy sessions were making a difference – he could see it in how she carried herself, how she was slowly letting her walls down. They weren't official yet, but he could wait. She was worth waiting for, worth giving time to heal and grow at her own pace.

"Ready?" she called from the office. They had errands to run – art supplies for her growing calligraphy business, orders to ship at the post office. Her Etsy shop was thriving, custom orders piling up faster than she could handle them.

The art supply store was their first stop. Jules watched as she carefully selected papers, inks, specialty pens. Her face lit up discussing different techniques with the shop owner, passionate in a way that made his chest warm. This was the Senait he loved seeing – confident, in her element, fully herself.

The post office queue wrapped around the building, but Jules didn't mind. Senait's arms were full of carefully wrapped packages – elaborate wedding signage, custom birthday installations, pieces that showcased her unique style. She'd worked late into the night finishing them, and watching her now, checking tracking numbers and insurance details, he felt overwhelmingly proud.

"Tu novia tiene mucho talento," the postal worker commented, admiring one of the visible designs. ("Your girlfriend's quite talented.”)

Jules didn't correct her assumption. Instead, he helped Senait balance the packages, stealing glances at her focused expression, the way she bit her lip while calculating shipping costs.

The sneaker store was where they slipped up. A small group of teenagers recognized him, eyes widening as they nudged each other. Jules tensed slightly – he was careful about public appearances, especially with Senait. His PR team had helped keep their relationship private, away from the football gossip machine.

"¿Te importaría una foto?" one boy asked nervously.

Jules glanced at Senait, who had already stepped back, understanding without words. He took a few quick pictures, signed some shoes, then they made their exit.

"Sorry about that," he said once they were in the car.

"Don't be. It's part of who you are."

Later, floating in his pool on one of his loungers, the Barcelona sun warm on their skin, Jules thought about Aurélien's text. His friend had been through hell with Zuri lately – family drama, media scrutiny, the works. The suggestion of a group trip to Megève had come with a note about needing peace, about wanting to share that peace with the people who'd supported them.

"Aurélien's planning a trip," Jules said, watching Senait's reaction carefully. "Megève in December. Him and Zuri, Jude and Lila. Thought we could join."

She turned in his arms, water droplets clinging to her eyelashes. "Sounds nice."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Small steps, but progress nonetheless. Jules pressed a kiss to her temple, content just to have her here, in his pool, in his life. Two months ago, she might have balked at the idea of a couples' holiday. Now she was planning it with him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Maurice's indignant crow from his enclosure made them both laugh. The rooster had taken to protesting when they used the pool, as if offended by their water activities.

"Your bird is jealous," Senait said, shifting to watch Maurice's dramatic display.

"Our bird," Jules corrected automatically, and smiled when he heard her hum noncommittally.

They stayed in the pool until the sun started to set, talking about everything and nothing. Her latest orders – a massive wedding installation that had her excited about the creative possibilities. His upcoming matches, training schedules, team dynamics.

It felt domestic in the best way. Like they'd been doing this forever, would keep doing it for years to come. Jules found himself imagining more moments like this – Senait in his space, planning futures together, Maurice providing the soundtrack to their life.

After showering and ordering dinner, they settled on his couch. Senait was sketching design ideas while Jules watched match footage, her feet in his lap, Maurice performing his evening concert in the background.

Even if she wasn't ready to name it yet, even if she still needed time to heal and trust and grow – Jules knew what this was. Knew that all the waiting, all the patience, all the careful steps forward would be worth it.

Looking at her now, completely absorbed in her sketches, wearing one of his t-shirts like it belonged to her, Jules felt something settle in his chest. A certainty that hadn't been there before.

This was it. She was it. Everything else was just details they'd figure out together.

THE END….epilogue coming soon…..

[inkykeiji]

CLARI BBY WHEN ARE WE GETTING A NEW GOJO FIC?

HEHEHE I DUNNO ANON BB uhhh i’ll probably feel like working on it when season two starts airing!!! i have a great idea for a gojo fic that i love so much that i definitely do want to finish,,, at some point,,,,,, hoping seeing him animated again will help motivate me to get it done!

[cent-scratchnsniff]

it was just going to be a few warmup doodles but then she infected the rest of the page like the ever eternal and spreading spores. hod!!! hod. hod :)

[royaltea000]

How (if at all) has Temp changed after the whole "being burned at the stake because the french were salty" deal

Well for one I think he has a big fear of fire now naturally and (I forget to draw this constantly but) burn scars over half of his body not just on his face. He’s kinda self conscious about em and has his bad confidence days but he’s learning how to love himself more these days and it’s getting better :)

I also wanna go the really angsty route and say that because of the smoke inhalation damage to his lungs - he can’t sing beautifully like he used to and even his speaking voice is raspier and a bit quiet now

He and France are very cold and barely civil to each other now - everyone knows not to leave those two in a room together alone. More often than not Gil ends up being the default mediator between em lol

[ultimateaclrecovery]

I’ve been asking the boy to come meet the pony fairly regularly since the start of the year and it’s been nothing but excuses (some legit others … less so)

And while yes this planned the cliche 30 business days but the contrast is staggering. Like my one friend suggested it to me and the other responded so enthusiastically and yes she rode horses and they both have dogs and thus are more animal people and both live closer to the barn but like still.

Also I am now excited for my friends to meet my pony!

[scholarhect]

i don’t understand what people are supposed to talk to their therapists about. my therapist just wants me to apply to jobs. this doesn’t feel right

[thedressagedraft]

I need a tranquilizer after all that, tbh.

[sourkitsch]

Two things that are true at once:

I am not nearly as mentally ill as I’ve convinced myself I am

I am far sicker than I’ve convinced my friends that I am

[diari0deglierrori]

Can’t this day be over already I just can’t stand seeing the date all the time and being reminded of it all again

[crabs-but-better]

yeah reading Stephen King’s memoir (has never read a SK book, memoir was a gift) and well he talks abt substance and alcohol abuse a lot and I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently since I know that my family has a predisposition to alcoholism and I am so…I’m not sure. Scared isn’t the right word. I perceive the future in this way that I just know that I’m going to end up somewhere I do not want to be. Even with the knowledge that it may happen. And it should be scary I think, I feel like I should be scared. So why aren’t I?

[pissfizz]

AGH

[cowardlycowboys]

28

28. How are you, really? I dunno ok i guess the normal really I suppose of I have to kill myself I have to kill myself everyone hates me and is out to get me everyone is gonna leave and betray me followed immediately by oh I'm so loved I'm so loved! things are ok and good!

[yobirinn]

every time i create something i enter this state of "oh no. ive done something i can never replicate. i mustnt touch it again" except i do, and every time i finish touching and retouching it, i enter the exact same state of thinking ive fucked up by doing something so good that it must be my peak. but somehow its never my peak. i think that says something about creating, or maybe about myself

[justonefeather]

Thinking about how sometimes I shake when talking about upsetting things? I feel fine otherwise in the moment, like I'm lucid and not dissociating, sometimes it doesn't even feel like it's something hard to talk about mentally. I often chalk it up to being cold or something, but it happens even if it's warm out, so like. Maybe it's me. But. Why? If *I'm* ok with talking about it why am I basically shivering for no reason??

[controversial-blorbo-bracket]

See, this is why we can’t have nice things

Controversial Character Tournament Round 1: Castiel from Supernatural