#something something one single thread of gold tied me to you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

soscarlett1twas · 2 months

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one single thread of gold (tied me to you)

↳ The invisible strings laced into the Sakuverse. ↳ 7.2k words / also available on ao3!

Matias stared at the screen, unable to formulate his thoughts. His fingers hesitated above the keyboard, and for each word he punched out, he purged the sentence before it was even finished.

He had suffered this problem before. It was always the first words, then the rest would flow – but with a mind full of ideas and hands eager to type, it was hard to push himself when all he got was a blank screen staring back at him.

Tension grew in his jaw as his teeth ground together. He pulled his hands back and strategically cracked each knuckle, first the distal joints, then the center, until he was left with were slightly looser hands and a still-blank screen. Each crack drifted up into the atrium's echo.

He refocused on the document, but all he perceived was the cursor, blinking in a staccato rhythm. Matias groaned.

His hand found a pen and clicked it a few times, scanning the open pages of his notebook as a refresher. Outlined on them was a short story about a nightmare he had wanted — not so much tried — to write for ages. He had written and rewritten the “stage directions", so-to-speak, of the story many times, finally settling on this version he was quite happy about. And the imagery he painted in his own head, of the scenes of the man's nightmare, how he could link it to the broader narrative of the man's life, how it would predict his future, it made him excited.

So he sat down to write, hands hovering over the keyboard of a school-issued laptop to start crafting what would surely be something great.

And yet. Yet.

A bar (the only black on his empty page) faded and reappeared again and again as Matias tried to conjure the right vocab, the right atmosphere, the right... something.

His hand moved to cover his face, fingertips pressing down his clenched eyebrows and curving down his face, until his palms holstered his jowls and his sides were warmed from the laptop-heat of his hands. His words were nothing to his imagination.

His hands moved once again to cover his face completely.

He was nothing to his imagination.

And he had tried, for so long, to believe that was okay. What were these stories for if not practice? Surely, once he was older, they would flow naturally. His prose would be enchanting, but not purple; his plots would be grand, but not confusing. He would look back on these old words as the small stepping stones to the majesty he would write eventually.

But why must it be eventually? Why couldn’t it be now?

Matias, who had subconsciously slumped down so far in the chair that his back connected more with the seat than his legs, exhaled and pulled himself back up. With one more look at white screen, he opened a new tab.

Pressing the My Drive bookmark at the top of his screen, he navigated through a swamp of miscellaneous documents, scattered thoughts spread across countless files. But what he was looking for would not be recently opened. He typed in its title in the search bar, bringing up a document untouched for months.

As with all his finished stories, this one was formatted all nicely, unlike the standard Arial he drafted in. He scrolled through it with mild attention and read a couple lines from assorted paragraphs.

This was a tale about two people who, throughout the work, became tentative friends. They did not like each other at first, but came around through their joint love of the stars, though very different in how they viewed them – one for science, one for mythology.

It was not fun to write. It is never fun to write, at least, in the moment. But Matias always found himself looking back on the process with more fondness than the finished product. And this was a work he was particularly fond of. (For as fond as one can be about their own work – that is to say, anything net neutral is ‘positive’, and anything less than is negative.)

The descriptions of the sky did it for him and he yearned to be able to write it again. He wanted to describe the world and its beauty, not a man's nightmare. He wanted back that process where, even if it was difficult at the moment, he was writing. Not stuck in his mind with the imaginary dreamscape of a nightmare, his own self an unfit conduit for the ideas he wanted to share. At least with skies and stars, they were pretty just to read. They created a fantasy that, even if the reader was not imagining what Matias wrote, they were substituting it for their own memories of nightfall.

When he exited the tab, the laptop lid closed with it. He needed to do something other than look at the screen.

Matias stood and stretched, rolling his neck and pushing in the chair to the desk. Just waiting for the right words wouldn’t work and he needed to stretch his legs a bit. Before walking away, he took one last look at his notebook, and closed it softly. Anywhere else, he would’ve had some more precaution, but it was doubtful anyone would steal his things at the library.

So he walked away, leaving any thoughts of the story behind him.

He had set up shop at the back of the building, so he flitted between rows and rows of bookshelves. He wove between CD’s on language learning to the record books, to the young adult and fantasy sections. Assorted mangas greeted him in the aisle he walked into.

He scanned a couple of titles with no intentions to take them out, but he liked to window shop. He’d even pull a couple out and read their back, or, if he was feeling particularly dangerous, flip to a random page and read a couple sentences. Then he’d slip them back in and walk away.

He threaded like this between three bookcases, reading spines which fled his mind the second he glanced away. He made one last turn, and, thoroughly unimpressed by his own attempt at clearing his thoughts, turned back the way he came.

On the way back to his desolate writing, he walked up to a World Atlas. It was large, pages spread across its entire podium and then some, open to a random page on Denmark. Matias had little interest in the country, but he liked maps, and this one was so detailed. He approached the atlas and began to leaf through it.

From French topography to the Indian Ocean to the specifics of Somalia’s economics, Matias skimmed through each section, finding himself smiling at it. It was dumb, he knew – but the world was so very big and so very complex, and that was where he found beauty. What a wonder to be able to see it one day. What he would give to make something like this.

He skimmed his fingers along the thick stack of right-aligned pages, opening up to a random one. It was about Iceland.

A map of the country was offset to the left hand corner, most of the spread being taken up by photos about the northern lights. He had heard of them of course, but he found himself in awe of the colors. Even in a stagnant image he could see them pulsing with different hues, the greens fading to blues to purples.

Oh, the sky. What a beautiful thing it is.

His finger traced the harsher lines of the aurora, where the lights hardened to a sheet of color. The flimsy paper beneath his fingertips folded as he shifted them upwards, but Matias quickly fixed it and kept going: Over and over, wondering it how could exist in this world. And how unfair it was that it is out of his reach.

It would be incredible to see the aurora. It was inspiring even in photo form, and what could it be in person? What basin of inspiration could this be for him? His fingers, just tracing the photo, felt as if they had dipped into a pool of magic, drenching themself in the motivation he needed to write.

And the nightmare came back to him, fully written around his inked skeleton, ready to be shaped.

Still staring at the basin, he –

– pulled his fingers away from the aurora clipping and flipped it, as carefully as he could, and lifted his glue stick. Purple glue coated the underside and he pressed it into the paper of his notebook, besides the Icelandic mountains and waterfalls he had cut out earlier. Once satisfied it was secure, he began to reach out for the magazine he left sprawled open, silhouettes now chopped from its pages.

Beside it, scattered atop of the carpeted floor, were many other magazines. Some were still safe, though many more were torn through and falling apart, their confetti guts sticking to the carpet fuzz. Their own images had been sniped and pasted into the notebook, from stills of people to landscapes.

Really, the subject didn’t matter. If Alex liked the composition, or the filter, or the lightning… well, into his notebook it went.

He hummed as he flipped through the magazine, eyes skimming over landscapes far and wide. Nothing quite did it for him, though he did wonder if he should cut out a particularly pretty iceberg… until the church.

Formed like a sharp bell curve, the structure rose into the clear blue sky, its golden lights projected onto the front, bleeding into each crevice of the jagged building. Three windows glowed at the top, small from the perspective, contrasting the dark, tinted part of the building. A singular rainbow window sat above the entrance door, its hood molding casting a deep purple shadow upwards.

Alex turned to grab his scissors when he spied the building's name, unpronounceable on his English tongue: Hallgrímskirkja. He still tried and snorted when it was butchered.

He began the incision at the base, silently wondering if he should only cut out the church or keep the sky (no, he decided, he needed the sky – it established the blues to contrast the rising yellow light), and began to snip away.

He worked cautiously, creating an arch that reached above the church and back down. Once done, he smiled and placed the scissors on the floor, pulling the clipping free from the page. He moved the magazine away and placed the photo down beside him, flipping to a new two-page spread in it. The church was too big to be added to the current page he was on. Besides, something like this deserved its own spread.

Again, methodically, he lifted his gluestick and spread it in curved motions behind the image, and stamped it into his book, careful to center it correctly. Just to be sure, he closed the book and pressed his palms onto its cover, forcing his body weight down to really stick it in there.

Satisfied, he opened the notebook back to Hallgrímskirkja, eyes scoring the photo and smiled.

He turned back the pages to old spreads. He just liked looking at them, to glimpse at his handiwork of images not his own. But they could be.

Alex was giddy at the thought, to do this for a living one day. Taking photos of the world's beauty, where it was its people or landscapes, or even gold-encrusted perfume bottles. He wanted it all.

He was about to turn back to the magazine when a knock echoed through his door. Before he could answer, his parents walked in.

“Alex?” His father walked into the bedroom, eyes catching on the photo clippings before landing on his son.

“Hey,” he responded, sitting up from his floor.

His mother took a couple steps forward. “What are you doing, Alex?”

Smiling at the chance to talk about photography, he immediately opened back up the Hallgrímskirkja page, eager to show them. He stood and held it out to her, his father coming around his mother’s shoulder to see.

He explained he was looking through photos for inspiration, that one day, he was going to take these photos for magazines. Maybe they could take a trip to Iceland as a family! He was about to offer up the idea when his father said:

“So… you want to be a photographer?”

He nodded.

He missed the glances his parents exchanged as he flipped to the back of the notebook, again holding the spread open for them to see.

Plastered across these pages were Polaroids he had taken with the disposable camera they bought him for a school day-trip. They were nothing much – just some landscapes, a couple candids of his friends, but they were his photos, and he displayed them with the same honor as his inspirations.

But this time, he did not miss the waver in his mothers eyes nor his father’s throat bobbing.

“Oh, these are so pretty hunny… why didn’t you show us these before?”

He didn’t quite have an answer to that. He just… didn’t. Alex’s arms loosened, bringing the open book down from their sights and against his chest, where he folded it, subconsciously hugging it.

“Photography is a great hobby, but a career?” His mother sat on his bed.

Still, he had nothing to say, throat dry. He shrugged. How could she go from praising his work to this in the same breath?

The room fell to awkward silence as Alex refused to meet their sights, still clinging to his notebook, and his parents didn’t speak.

“I came to ask,” his father finally began, “if you wanted to come and play with the neighbor kids. They set up a volleyball net – you like volleyball, right?”

“Yeah.” He first tried it on a beach vacation. It was a lot of fun playing with kids his age, and he liked the neighbors plenty, but he was busy. Before he could say so, though, his father clapped his back.

“Great! I’ll tell them you’ll be there soon,” and walked out of his bedroom, his mother kissed his cheek before leaving as well.

Left alone, he let out a little sigh, and flipped the book in his hands. He looked at its cover, plain compared to its pages, made of woven cloth. He bought it ages ago with his allowance. The same allowance he had shoved in a jar, on top of his nightstand, containing a total on its top. His savings for a camera, because they refused to buy him even a disposable one unless it was on a school to-have list for field trips.

Outside, he could just barely make out the sounds of the kids playing, calling for the first –

– serve spiked down and, after hitting inside the lines, bounced out of bounds. Kayson whooped as his team cheered in his honor, and they all shuffled one spot to the left.

The other team stood stagnant, as they had for the last three serves, unable to score a point and move. It wasn’t traditional volleyball: the game the class was playing was altered to give everyone a chance at each position. When your team scored a point, everyone shifted a position to the left. Kayson bounded from the server to the middle of the back row.

And up to serve was a girl who spent the entire class glancing at the clock, anxious to get out of here. He couldn’t blame her. The teams had been randomly chosen, and she had fallen into a group of tryhards who were thriving on the competition – which is to say, Kayson got real lucky.

She squirmed in the position, smiling only when she caught the glimpse of her friends on the other side of the net, as if to mock herself and say “We know this won’t end well, but how funny will it be when I fail?”

The ball got tossed over the net, ending up closer to Kayson than her. He caught it and walked over, handing it over in a quick toss.

“Alright, Mia.” Kayson crouched his knees and balled his fist, swinging it with clear direction to the hypothetical ball in his other. “Just like we talked about. Get some leverage and,” he thrust his fist up and through the ghostly volleyball, “swing up. Make sure to keep your hand balled!” He tread back to his spot, walking backwards to nod as she mirrored his actions.

She curled her lip slightly, knees bending as her arm straightened. Kayson watched, still nodding his head as Mia took a couple practice swings.

They barely knew each other. The only class they shared was this one, and Kayson would be hesitant to call them acquaintances, much less friends. But when Mia had messed up her first serve at the beginning of the unit, laughing at herself before anyone else got the chance to, he had called out some advice at the reserve. And that time, it made it over the net.

He hoped his aid held true again.

She took one last swing and thrust her arm back with more certainty, pushing it forward at just the right angle. He watched as it nearly hit the ceiling before arching back down, landing in the center of the back row.

“Oh! Oh!” Mia’s voice grew in excitement as she realized that not only was it a decent serve, it was a good one – and Kayson shouted back a “Let’s go!” in the rising choir of middle schoolers getting into a good game.

The two teams went back for approximately two passes before the bell rang.

Kayson went to grab his backpack, not missing the small wave from Mia when he turned around. He returned the gesture and smiled.

His friends caught up to him, laughing and jostling each other around as they walked out of the gym. Kayson pushed the one away, claiming his was too sweaty, and the boy retorted that Kayson was worse. Which, he was.

“Alright, I’ve got to go…” Kayson said, trailing away from his friends. His next class was halfway across the school and didn’t want to be late. They said their goodbyes and split directions.

The hallways were packed as they were every passing period. Kayson maneuvered between people, often bumping shoulders, his smile fading to neutrality. Everyone around him looked the same, minds somewhere beyond the cramped halls.

With gym – his favorite class today – done with, Kayson adapted to the melancholy which awaited him at his next classes, feeling any leftover adrenaline bleeding out of him. The rest of the day had little interest to him.

Kayson left the main, packed hallway for the smaller math hall. People loitered outside doors, not wanting to go to their classes yet, or walked beside their friends in twos or threes. He could spy a small crowd inside the bathroom as he passed. Turning the corner, the open door of his Algebra class beckoned.

Cool air hit his sweaty skin when Kayson walked in. His desk was close to the back of the room, a choice he made at the start of the year. His bag slinked to the floor as he dropped it and sat on the even colder chair. His legs stuck to the plastic.

While his table was still empty, others had a filled somewhat. The teacher walked up to one and handed her a paper. She flipped it over and flashed it to her friend, with a big A written in red up top.

And Kayson remembered the test from last class.

The little spark still in him died at the realization, being replaced by the pooling dread of known failure. He had studied, and he had felt good while taking it, but he also knew to be realistic. And realistically, he did not know math.

The teacher finished handing off papers to the rest of the table before making her way over to Kayson, smiling softly.

“Good morning, Kayson.” She rifled through her papers.

“Morning,” he muttered.

She pulled a sheet from the middle of the stack and gave it to him, already moving to another table. He barely looked at it. All he needed was the D before flipping it back over, the pen used to mark his paper bleeding through the back.

He groaned as he lowered his head. He was fine with his B average. Hell, he’d even scored a couple A’s in classes this year, but with the way his math grade was going…

When the C came in last quarter on his report card, he hated showing it to his mom, hated the class, hated himself for it. He promised her with one more bad grade, he’d go to tutoring. And here was his ticket to ride.

He rose and walked over to the teacher, skin like suction ripping from the chair. “Can I go to the bathroom?” He muttered as she turned to him. At her nod, he left, passing the TA’s desk who’d surely be his new tormentor after school.

There was still a line, made up of kids who had yet to leave for class. But when the bell rang they began to trickle out, leaving Kayson to tap his foot on the dirty floor, waiting for a stall, also not quite here to actually use the facilities.

He took a deep breath when he finally got to sit on a non-plastic chair, in that suffocatingly cold classroom, instead relatively alone in the middle stall. He took a deep breath as he shut the door, clicking the –

– lock into place, Luca sat, scratching at his eyes.

His breath was already wavering, but with the final swallow of air came his break, and he folded over on the porcelain, knees pressed to soaking lashes.

He had tried. God, Luca had tried so hard. There hadn’t even been a triggering event. But a building wave must eventually fall.

And out it came, pouring from his eyes with the crash of croaking breaths.

Luca’s hands clawed from cupping his mouth to running along his waterline, wiping tears before they even traced his face. Yet still more came, and for all the grief which choked him, for all the loneliness which sparked the display, his only thought was how to make it stop.

Which made it all the worse when he couldn’t. The resounding loneliness just echoed back to him as one breath became too loud, as even in his misery Luca was still consciously fearful of others, and even more aware that there was simply no one around.

His parents were worried, of course. When he brought home the permission slip, excitedly bobbing at the chance to go to New York City with his class, his parents sat him down to talk through it. What to expect, how to stay safe, whether or not he should go… the last point got brought up a lot.

He insisted he’d be fine. After all, his bullies weren’t in classes who’d go on the trip. His parents asked if he’d have any friends with him instead.

Despite him drawing a blank at the question, his parents still let him go. Oh, how he wished they didn’t anymore.

Luca pressed his palms to his eyes.

It hadn’t even been a bully – if it were, at least somebody was thinking about him, talking to him – instead it was complete isolation. Not a single conversation with another kid for the two days they’d spent in the city. When he tried, he was met with some form of swift rejection.

He convinced himself it was fine. He was fine, until he wasn’t, and at dinner it was all too much. He sat with the teachers, glanced over at the table he should be at, and excused himself politely.

Only to end up in the bathroom, the only place he could let the feeling engulf him, ironically praying he was left alone in his sadness as if that wasn’t the cause of it.

No, he didn’t want to be alone. He wanted his mom. He wanted his dad. He wanted the people who loved him. But they were unreachable.

At the thought, another wave of sadness crested over him.

This time he let himself cry.

He did not know how much time had passed, only that he was spent when tears turned to a thin plaster on his skin. He had barely moved from his hunched position and an ache grew in the small of his back.

Luca swallowed the rising weight in his throat and sat up. His eyelashes brushed his face as he shut his eyes tightly, feeling the cool tears on both. His mind started to work again, no longer suffocated with his misery, instead slowly turning with coherent thoughts.

But remain did the feeling of hollowness in his chest, perhaps sculpted out from his sobs – Luca felt it as he breathed, tasting iron on the lip he was biting, eyebrows furrowed. If anyone could see him, the uncharacteristic look of anger would shock them. Or would it? To recognize it’s unrecognizably would be to know him, to know he was not angry, to know he was simply clenching trying not to cry again. But nobody did.

Or perhaps they would be affronted by it not because he was him, but because of what he seemed to be. He was small, frail in stature and always looking if trying to hide away. He was meant to be unseen, not to be unseemly.

For what he hoped to be the final time, Luca rolled toilet paper and dabbed it to his eyes, then promptly threw it into the bowl. He watched it flush.

The door opened with a shove. Luca appreciated it’s coverage, working almost as an entrance to another room inside of a bathroom stall. Perks of crying in a nice restaurant.

He walked over to the sinks and motioned underneath the faucets with his fingertips. He just sat there, letting himself feel the water.

He dabbed it on his eyebags. Like a coal, he could feel himself cooling under the water. Luca massaged it into his skin and dipped his fingers back under for more. This was a familiar ritual to him.

He barely noticed the door opening, though the familiar voice of a teacher brought him to.

“Luca?” He startled.

Mr. Polis, a Biology teacher, stood at the door. Luca never had his class, a fact he was often grateful for – many said he was tough and an even harsher grader. Even as he looked at him, there was a certain edge to his gaze. It was laced with worry.

He made an obnoxious sniff to recall mucus and winced at how it echoed. “Hi, Mr. Polis…” Luca turned his head and walked to dry his hands, suddenly even embarrassed of his ablution.

He stayed turned to the towels as another faucet began. In the mirrors he could see the teacher washing his hands. Curiosity spiked, but he wasn’t going to ask.

“One of your classmates decided to spill their drink on me,” he said, as if reading Luca’s mind. He sighed and waved his hand under another dispenser. When it didn’t work, his exasperation grew to an annoyed hum as he began to walk towards Luca. “Excuse me.”

Luca stepped aside, away from the mirrors as the teacher got his towel. He stared at the crumpled brown paper in his hand. Luca tried to fold it another way so he could blow his nose again, but already so small, it was useless. He’d get another when Mr. Polis left.

Luca still tried to avoid his sights as he walked over to the trash, rubbing his eyes to hide better.

“Have you been enjoying the city so far?”

Luca still didn’t turn to him. “Yeah… it’s been fun.” His voice was rough.

“Good, good.”

The man came beside him and threw his own towel away.

“Would you like a hug?”

It was an awkward question, but it startled Luca enough to make him look at the man. His expression was creased in worry, but a comforting smile played on his lips as his hands opened slightly.

And just like that, he threatened to burst into tears again.

The teacher wrapped his arms around Luca, reminiscent of his father’s comfort, and held him for a short moment. This mean, harsh teacher was the only one who offered him any comfort, a member of the small few who noticed, and then cared, about his emotions.

Luca was inevitably the first to pull away, arms loosing around him at the force. He didn’t want to tear-stain the man’s shirt. It already took a blow this evening.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked.

Luca shook his head, another obnoxious snort echoing in the room.

“That’s alright, just… don’t hide away. The teachers are here if you need us.” The man nodded his head with a thin-lipped expression. “When you’re feeling better, feel free to join us back at the table. I know we said no dessert but… you’re sitting with us. I’ll get you a hot chocolate or something.”

Mr. Polis walked out of the bathroom, leaving Luca alone with his thoughts once more. He swallowed the rising lump in his throat and went back to the sink, dampening another paper to cleanse his eyes.

A teacher. A teacher cared for him, a boy he didn’t even teach.

Something indescribable washed over him, and Luca pulled the towel away. He folded it over, the paper rough under his touch as he pressed it, once more, to his face. He wadded it up. As he walked away, he lightly threw it into the –

– trash can. He winced as the paper slit his fingertip.

He turned his finger to see the damage, but the cut was so thin it wasn’t even visible. With his thumb, he pulled the skin taut, feeling the burn of a paper cut but still, nothing.

Andrew groaned and grabbed his pen, going back to scribbling down notes as the video he neglected to pause shifted focus to the importance of Chilean copper mines in the 1970’s and how they partly incited the American-sponsored coup d'état.

Riveting.

The video was meant to help him study. It had good coverage of American-sponsored insurrections in the Cold War era, the current topic in his history class and the basis for a presentation he was set to give Monday. But even for a man who enjoyed these things, Andrew’s mind couldn’t help but loll. Every sentence sounded muffled. Even his eyes weren’t focused on the graphics. They watched the time instead, on the far right corner of his laptop.

The numbers lay stagnant, Andrew’s mind beginning to wander back to class. Back to the boy.

He rewound the video with a tense hand.

Again he heard the explanations of Chile’s nationalization of the copper mines and jotted down a couple points he thought were important. But when he rested his hand on the notebook page, he moved his finger slightly, and with it came a burgundy smear.

Andrew recoiled, briefly forgetting the paper cut. But the thin line had started to bubble with blood, painting more than the paper red. There was a spot on his pen as well.

He groaned, slamming the space bar to pause the video before getting off his bed. Though, he was also grateful to be without reminder of class for a moment. They had band aids somewhere in the house, he knew, but specifically where was a mystery.

His feet pattered on the upstairs carpet, turning to a hollower sound as the stairwell became wood. Descending into the small foyer he opened the cabinets directly to his right. He was cautious to keep his bloody finger off the furniture. After a few moments of looking, he found no band aids.

He blinked tiredly at the spot where he thought they’d be, throwing his head back in mild exhaust, catching the gaze of the crucifix above the drawers.

Andrew stared at it for a few moments, then hurriedly left the room to continue his search.

He found more miscellaneous cabinets, but as he looked through them, he couldn’t help but feel the divine gaze on him. Somebody – God – was watching him.

He turned around, scanning the empty room as if to find a ghost with him. Nothing was there. He turned back to his search, pulling open another drawer and scanning with new vigor. Andrew wanted to be back up in his room quick.

The feeling had, admittedly, been the thing to distract him earlier. It had been following him all week, though never as strong as it was in this moment. The cross and its waxen martyr could hear the sin in his mind, he was sure of it, as it was filled with… disquieting thoughts.

Andrew tried to shake it from him – the thoughts of class, watching the teacher, eyes drifting down to the boy beside him – but it was no use. He could lie and say he didn’t purposefully look in his direction, but what use would it be when he couldn’t even convince himself?

Everything began to remind him of his failure. Even the damn copper mines.

Andrew let out a huff of bitter laughter. How...

...romantic, he finished, quieter than the minds echo, a thought inside a thought. Something welled inside him. It wasn’t romantic. Nothing about this was ‘romantic’. Romance wasn’t… it wasn’t made up of… how would a relationship like that even work?

Andrew’s mind slowly turned to more intimate ideas. He made a face as he sharply pushed them out. Though the idea that he had thought them (and did so willingly, though he wouldn’t admit it) shocked him. Scared him.

Suddenly jolted from his mind palace of worry, Andrew looked directly at a box of band aids that had been in front of him for God-knows how long.

He blinked once at it. Twice. Then he delicately pulled back the loose flap on top and got a small bandage.

He stared at it, cut long dry and crusted over with blood. It shook. The band aid was shaking.

No, he was shaking, but he wasn’t going to look at himself and admit that.

Andrew placed it back in the box and slowly shut the cabinet. He stared at the dark wood, trying to reground himself in reality.

He turned back to the stairwell. Jesus watched him climb the stairs. His gaze followed him into his room.

He wasn’t. He could be. He could even think of the word. Not because he could remember it, but to let it ring in his head, in his voice?

Andrew swallowed rising bile as he convinced himself to think it, at least. Because was it better to refuse it, or to proudly state it negatively? Was he weaker for letting the guilt (no, not guilt, because he was guilty of naught) consume him, or for thinking of these things to begin with?

He was not ‘into’ men.

He was not gay.

He was not –

– queer name, Dedalus, and I have a queer name too, Athy. My name is the name of a town. Your name is like Latin.

Isaac skimmed over the passage. This section was a nice break from the confusing nature of Joyce’s earlier prose. He could appreciate the dedication to writing as if through a toddler’s perspective, but enjoyment was a different metric. At least these lines were brief and conversational.

Well, Isaac mused, nothing could be as dense as Ulysses, even if by the same author. And even if Isaac had never read that labyrinth of a book, he knew how torturous it was.

So he continued reading about children and their discussion of riddles, even if the one was quite poor at them.

—Can you answer me this one? Why is the county of Kildare like the leg of a fellow’s breeches?

Stephen thought what could be the answer and then said:

—I give it up.

“I wouldn’t say it’s early, but I don’t often get a call from you at this hour.”

Isaac froze, eyes looking at the words on the page but not quite reading them. That was the voice of his grandfather.

Isaac’s brow furrowed. He straightened himself and kept on reading.

—Because there is a thigh in it, he said. Do you see the joke? Athy is the town in the county Kildare and a thigh is the other thigh. “What could be so important, Asriel?”

Isaac didn’t get the joke, yet he kept reading. The book trickled back into dense prose and it failed to capture his attention. Instead, the words of his grandfather seemed to get louder as Isaac unintentionally focused on them.

“The Skoligs? I thought only the Vex had connections to your circle.”

Isaac stared at the paper.

His father… must be a magistrate too… He thought of his own father… while his mother played… when he asked for sixpence…

He read and reread the paragraph, never quite catching what it was saying. It began to frustrate him, the lengths to which is own mind refused to ignore the man in the other room.

“Checks and balances, I understand.” His grandfather’s voice got louder as he turned into the hallway and noticed Isaac in the drawing room. Isaac’s periphery betrayed the old man’s lingering gaze before he kept walking and entered the kitchen, which was still close enough for him to hear. “You’re saying Stockton is a playground for higher forces. What stake do you have in this?”

Silence, again.

He thought of his own father, of how he sang songs while his mother played and of how he always gave him a shilling when he asked for sixpence and he felt sorry for him that he was not a magistrate like the other boys’ fathers.

There. Isaac read the sentence and understood it. Finally. His took a moment to clear his head once more, unwittingly glancing over towards the direction of the voice.

“I didn’t take you to be the sentimental type.”

Isaac waited as the other line was deaf to him, before his sight refocused on the page. No. He didn’t care. His grandfather’s work was nothing to him.

Isaac began to read again, his mind wading through the twisted writing and trying to make sense of it. But the buzz of his grandfather’s gruff voice never failed to waft back to him.

He focused even harder on reading.

Isaac made it halfway down the page before: “Don’t make this my families business. Again.”

Isaac’s sight stopped dead.

Who did he say he was on call with? Asriel? The question betrayed his apathy. A vitriolic expression bled onto his face. Who was he to blame that on someone else? He made it his families business, whatever it was – his work was their downfall. He was their downfall. Who but he could have made it his parent’s problem? Who was Asriel?

The silence was deafening as he waited for any answer, wiggling his ears childishly as if it would help him hear a response.

“Anything involving that woman was my families business,” his grandfather barked. Even Isaac was slightly taken aback. His eyes were glued to the wall, as if to bare through them and face his grandfather entirely.

That woman… Isaac raked his brain for whoever that could be. He came up blank. There was no woman significant enough to his family, that he knew of, to solicit that reaction from his grandfather.

His grandfather rounded the corner and Isaac threw himself back in the direction of the book. He did not try to read the words, but met the paragraph he had long bore at and the shape of two words in particular. Father and mother sat inked before him. Silence enveloped a long moment.

When his grandfather began to speak, Isaac could no longer handle being even near the man.

As he stood, the book folded back together harshly, closing him away from the specters of a family. Isaac began to walk in the opposite direction of his grandfather, towards his room. As he turned into the hallway, the words “wraith” and “leader” hit him.

Isaac quickened his pace, one final name gracing his ear; “Terra,–“

– Warden’s voice ricocheted outside the car, his large figure shoving on a coat as he emerged out of the house. He waited for a second, listening to an inaudible response, before climbing into the drivers seat.

Elias scooted even farther down into his seat, knees propped up higher than his head as his spine curled to an uncomfortable degree. But he was too engrossed in his 3DS to notice – Elias had a Riolu to catch and a gym badge to obtain, he had no time for the meager discomfort in his neck.

Warden turned the car on and, as the engine whirred to life, glanced back at Elias and chuckled. “Enjoying the game?”

Elias barely heard him, staring daggers at the Poké Ball which shook once. Twice. Then a shadowy sprite of Riolu emerged from its wake. Elias groaned and managed to slink even farther down.

“Don’t ignore your dad, Elias.”

He looked up to see his mother’s hair swishing as she put on her seat belt, then turned to face him with furrowed eyebrows and a teasing smile at her lips.

“And sit up,” her voice gaining a sudden starkness as she took in his form.

Elias scrambled to do just that, the commanding tone of his mother’s voice, full of love yet still slightly terrifying imploring him to have perfect posture and a clicked in seat belt within moments. She nodded and turned back around.

When his dad repeated the question, Elias shifted the 3DS back into his lap. “Yeah, I am.”

“Good,” was all his father responded with. As he looked over his seat to pull out of the driveway, he smiled at Elias.

The boy waited for a bit before returning to the game. He didn’t want to risk not hearing someone again and them actually getting annoyed. But as their conversation lulled into something work related, Elias eagerly snatched the system back up and honed his attention to the screen.

And when he finally managed to catch the Pokemon, his grin stretched ear-to-ear.

He navigated to the menu, pressing save and shutting the console with a snapping sound. He often got a headache from playing video games in the car. One already was teasing at the front of his head.

Thankfully, the window glass was cold where he placed his cheek. Roaming Stockton streets passed by in a blur, concrete on concrete on concrete. Elias played a game with the metal fences: He’d find their endpoint, wait for them to pass him, then ‘jump’ to the next with his sight. It kept him entertained in the monochrome, if slightly dizzying.

There was a small park, however, on a street they passed. When his mom told stories of her youth, which was rare, the park had come up – one of her friends began a garden within it to help the community.

He glanced at her. Her eyes were closed, though mouth still moving as she explained something to his dad.

Unintentionally, Elias mimicked her movement. He reclined in the seat and rested his head somewhat lopsidedly, twiddling the game console in his hands, watching as the outside greenery quickly bled back into gray. His friends own came to mind.

Elias closed his eyes to the thought of him showing off his catch. Oh, it was going to be awesome. He couldn’t wait.

#sakuverse #zsakuva #zsakuva matias #zsakuva alex #kayson mayer #zsakuva kayson #luca pearce #zsakuva luca #andrew marston #zsakuva andrew #isaac rhoades #zsakuva isaac #zsakuva elias #jesus that's a lot of tags #for anyone wondering the book Isaac was reading is 'A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man' by James Joyce #divider by cafekitsune

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spideystevie · 1 year

Text

single thread of gold (tied me to you)

word count: 1.2k

a/n: tell jesus...that the bitch is back. HIII have had insane amounts of writer's block lately but have been getting into the groove again and thus, this was born. truly just overly "poetic" fluff with, like, no plot. i've missed steve and i've missed YOU guys!!!! i hope you like <3

Fate wasn’t an idea you bought into. Invisible strings, serendipitous meetings, everything happened with cause and effect.

Then, you met Steve and fate seemed to be something that had a lot more pull in your life than you ever realized. How else could you explain a mini version of your Steve pouting in the background of a childhood photo of you at the park? Or the distinct color of the green jacket you wore all the time in the corner of a picture of Steve on vacation his junior year?

You’re sure there had to be signs you were oblivious to. Twists of fate tugging on the respective end of the string that tied the two of you together, pulling this way and that until you fell together. It seems like the stars aligned the day you met, everything slowly starting to fall into place the more you wove your lives together.

It’s a pretty thought now, the idea of fate and serendipity.

A tethering thread, thin as fishing wire and painted gold, is wrapped snug around your hearts. It’s naked to the eye but you can feel it give your heart a gentle squeeze whenever Steve smiles, each time he brushes his thumb over the curve of your cheek, down to your jaw.

It digs into the flesh even now, sets your skin alive as he stands behind you, arms wrapping around your shoulders and holding you close against him. It’s instinctive the way your hands come up to hold onto his forearms. Your head lolls to one side, nearly resting against the pillow of muscle in his bicep near your ear.

You wonder if this is too much for the grocery store on a Sunday. After all, you’re just trying to pick out a new cereal to try for breakfast. Steve wants anything chocolate and your nose crinkles, unsure if you agree. He tries his best to smooth the wrinkle along the bridge of your nose away with a kiss.

It works, though his kiss presses more so to the skin beneath your eye than your actual nose. You don’t mind. You never mind when it comes to Steve’s kisses on your skin.

He talks you into cocoa puffs, keeps one arm wrapped around you as he reaches to grab the box and put it in your shopping cart. He spoon feeds you a couple mouthfuls when you get home and all the groceries have been put away. When he kisses you it’s almost artificially sweet like the chocolate from his cereal.

You push his hair back from his forehead, dipping to press a kiss between his brow. His eyes close on contact and a wispy smile creeps onto his face. When you straighten, his hair falls back into place and you ruffle it with your hand. He swats it away with a playful scrunch of his nose that makes you laugh.

“I was thinking tonight we could go out for dinner, see a movie maybe,” you say, leaning against the counter. Steve swivels on the barstool, his knee nudging your thigh. The spoon clinks against the bowl, stirring up the last few lonely pieces of cereal floating in the milk.

He reaches for your waist, pulling you to his lap with an ease that’s grown over the years. You sit on his thigh, back against the edge of the counter and both legs dangling in the space between his. Like some kind of magnetic force, your hand comes back to his hair, pushing the loose strands of fringe away from his forehead again.

A gooey admiration pools like honey in his eyes as he looks up at you. He smiles, a little dopey, when your nails scratch against his scalp.

“Hmm, do I get to pick the movie?”

“I think that can be arranged,” you murmur, a smile etched on your face. You seem to do that a lot you realize, a near permanent upturn of your lips whenever Steve’s around. You can’t help it, a reflex after this many years together.

Steve feels the tug of that thread around his heart right now, with your hand fallen against the back of his neck and the sweetest lovesick smile on your face. He can’t get enough of you, not that he’d ever want to. Steve loves the insatiable feeling that comes with loving you.

“Then it’s a date,” he responds, the insides of his body feeling heavy and warm from the amount of adoration coursing through him. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it. Like he can’t take it anymore, he pinches at your side and relishes in the giggling squeal that escapes you as you fold at the side and lean away.

“Steve,” you try to go for chastising, your hand smushing against his face and pushing him away when he tries to pinch again, but it comes out half-hearted and through a laugh. It mixes with his, a hearty melodic sound that you never tire of hearing.

You move to stand, your feet just barely touching the ground before you’re pulled back tight against him. He noses against your neck, lips ghosting against the skin there. You twist your neck to face him as his face comes up from its spot against your neck.

Steve’s eyes scan your face, redrawing each feature from memory each time he blinks. His nose nudges against yours, squishes against your cheek when he presses his lips to yours. A feeling like coming home, a mutual squeeze around your hearts that comes each time you kiss.

When you pull back, he steals one, two, three more kisses from you until you’re left a giggling mess, smile wide and blinding and eyes shining like the stars. He’s never seen a prettier sight. Another kiss is stolen, this one silencing your giggles with the intensity of it. You blink hard, a little dazed when he pulls away.

Steve’s nose brushes against your hairline, his lips ghosting over your temple. That same cheek-aching smile returns to your face, a bit softer this time, fuzzy around the edges. Your whole body feels that way, a whole gaussian blur of a lover as you look at your boyfriend.

His eyes soften and his head tilts in question, “What?”

“Jus’ love looking’ at you,” you say, voice a gentle hug. I love you is what it means, til the end of time and then some. Steve understands, of course he does. Your serendipitous, fated love. His eyes crinkle at the corners from how big his smile grows, your favorite sight. One of your hands reaches to hold his face, thumb brushing against the wrinkled skin.

“Funny,” he muses, voice dripping with fondness for you, “was just thinking the same thing ‘bout you.”

Your heart soars and you can feel yourself sinking further into the deep end of the pool of his adoration for you. Positively lovesick, you bring his face down to yours again to kiss him silly.

That tethering string wraps almost painfully, suffocatingly tight around your hearts. If you could die from so much love, well, it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #📝: a writes!

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katelynnwrites · 8 months

Text

One Single Thread Of Gold (Tied Me To You) | Laura Freigang x Sydney Lohmann

warnings: not proof read oopsie

word count: 4151

summary: the invisible string theory is the idea that those who are destined to meet will meet, regardless of time, place or circumstance. sydney and laura are two such people.

a/n: no i don't ship them together in real life, i just wanted to write this <3

Contrary to what most people think, Laura and Sydney have not known each other for that long.

Really, they’d only met in 2019.

Sydney had been trying to lock down her position on the senior team for a year when Laura got called up for the first time.

Of course, they had both heard about each other before that.

Laura had heard all about the younger midfielder who’s already becoming known as somewhat of a generational talent and the Bayern Munich player had heard all about the striker who is working her way up the Frauen Bundesliga’s top scorers list.

Like the sun orbiting the Earth, the Eintracht Frankfurt player and Sydney have been orbiting each other.

The two year age difference had kept them from meeting while on the youth teams, with Laura always being one age group ahead.

As fate would have it, one of them had always been out injured with one thing or another when their clubs played each other.

So it’s with nothing but knowledge of each other’s reputations that they meet.

And right away Sydney is sure that Laura is and will forever be the prettiest girl she has ever seen.

There was just something about her nervous energy and shy demeanor that pulled Syd in.

She was standing hesitantly to the side of the group, not really knowing anyone and not really being brave enough to approach just yet.

Ever the social butterfly, Syd separates from her Bayern teammates and walks up to Laura right away.

‘Hallo’ She greets.

The forward jumps slightly, having been startled by Sydney’s sudden presence.

‘Sorry h-hi. Hello.’ Laura stammers.

She holds out her hand and the midfielder grins, sticking out her own hand to shake Laura’s.

Laura who gets so lost in the Bayern player’s hazel eyes and brilliant smile that she doesn’t let go of Sydney’s hand.

It takes her at least a full minute to realise her mistake and when she does, she hurriedly drops Syd’s hand.

‘Fuck I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I thought about giving you a hug but I didn’t want to seem too forward and so I decided on a handshake but I think that’s too German of me? Doesn’t matter though, I made it awkward and now you must think I’m the weirdest person ever.’ Laura rambles, her cheeks rapidly growing redder and redder.

Sydney laughs, a bright melodic sound.

‘Not at all but we can start over if you’d like?’

‘T-That would be nice.’

The midfielder giggles again, ‘Hi I’m Syd and it’s really nice to meet you.’

‘Hey I’m Laura. It’s lovely to meet you too.’ The older player softly says.

A smile tugs on her lips and then Sydney unexpectedly pulls Laura into a tight hug, whispering in her ear, ‘And it’s not too much to hug.’

As the Eintracht Frankfurt player melts into the taller woman’s embrace, she notes that Sydney smells like a smell she had long forgotten existed.

She can’t even describe what the smell is like, all she knows is that at some point in her childhood she had smelt it and remembered feeling safe.

One could say that Sydney smells kinda like home to her.

******

The younger blonde doesn’t know what it is about striker but she just clicks with her.

They get along so well that after their first few camps together, anyone would think they have known each other for a lifetime.

Syd is aware that she’s been smitten with Laura from the very first moment they met.

She’s accepted that.

What she is finding completely out of her depth is the way the Eintracht Frankfurt player pays attention to her.

Laura is always watching, always listening and she catalogues her knowledge of Sydney like it’s her favourite thing to do.

She remembers the Munich native’s coffee order, her habits and what comforts her.

The striker focuses particularly on what makes Sydney happy.

Favourite flower, favourite books, favourite type of food. Laura knows it all.

And when Sydney questions it, the older woman simply replies, ‘Isn’t that what friends do?’

She says it so confidently and so easily that the blonde midfielder believes it.

She lets herself believe it for a long time.

Days turn into weeks, then months and eventually years.

Time is a curious thing. It gave no compasses and no signs as to when things would change between Sydney and Laura.

It is really not till the Euros in England that Sydney picks up on a clue that Laura may view her as more than just a friend.

Losing the final to the Lionesses is a hard blow but their team is determined to celebrate their own success.

So they throw a party in their hotel and the younger blonde is entirely surprised when the striker turns up in her jersey.

She’d not thought much of it when Laura had asked for one of her jerseys, simply thinking that the Eintracht Frankfurt player wanted it for her collection. She knows that Laura likes to swap jerseys.

But for all of their teammates and family members to be dressed up nicely and the forward to be aware of the fact and still make the decision to rep her name?

Well Sydney is starstruck by it.

She cannot stop looking at Laura who is dancing and bopping around to the loud music. She’s the life of the party.

She might have been shy when they initially met but now that she’s comfortable around the team, her outgoing personality is really shining through.

Some part she didn’t know existed inside of her loves her last name on the former Penn State player’s back.

Laura had paired the home jersey with light washed jeans and done her hair up in a messy bun. The midfielder appreciates the sliver of exposed skin on the taller woman’s stomach, courtesy of the way she has the top tucked up.

Her Olympus film camera is on its lanyard around her body.

That film camera had gone everywhere with the forward during their Euros journey and as Sydney continues being mesmerised by Laura, she comes to the startling realisation that she has been the main subject of Laura’s viewfinder.

She’d not thought about it before but now, she can’t help but think about every instance where Laura had taken a photo of her.

Casual photos of her in her street clothes, candid ones of her after games and simple ones where it was just her being herself in their hotel room.

Were there other clues that she didn’t see? And if so, how many?

Still, Laura doesn’t say anything or make a move so neither does Sydney. Even if Laura’s smile gives her butterflies and lights up her day.

******

The slightly older of the pair thinks time is mystical.

She’s known Sydney for four years now and it seems like no time has passed.

The time they spend at camp, joined at the hip just like they were at eighteen and twenty still never feels like enough.

They make the most of it but leaving back to their respective clubs have always been hard.

Laura misses Sydney like she’s missing some part of herself when they are apart. She can pinpoint the exact moment in time that she thinks the Bayern Munich player might feel the same way.

It’s not long after things have begun to go back to normal after Covid when Sydney takes full advantage and shows up to one of Laura’s games in Frankfurt.

The older blonde will never forget how warm her heart had felt when she spotted the midfielder in the crowd, just before halftime.

Sydney had shot her a wide grin as she noticed and Laura had played the rest of the match with a unique lightness.

She’d also gone all out to impress, scoring two more goals in the second half to complete her hattrick.

‘For you.’ The striker had murmured as she presented the match ball to Sydney.

Sydney who blushes a light pink and accepts it, before pointing out that it’s not yet signed.

Laura giggles before finding a Sharpie and signing it.

Then after a brief moment of consideration, she adds a heart.

The midfielder carefully brushes her finger over it, a soft smile growing on her face.

She tucks the ball under her arm protectively, ‘Thank you Lau. You played amazingly today.’

Now it’s Laura’s turn to have her cheeks flush.

’Did my best to put on a show cause I had a special someone watching today. Speaking of said someone, what are you doing here?’

Sydney laughs, tucking a few strands of loose hair behind her ear.

‘I had a couple days off and I thought I would surprise you. Seeing you at camp just isn’t enough.’

Laura swallows the rising emotion in her throat.

‘I missed you too.’

******

Sydney and Laura dance around their feelings for years.

After the Euros, they are both somewhat aware that the feelings they individually harbour are reciprocated.

But it is not till their Morocco trip, more than a year later that things actually change.

They’ve been shifting a bit with the two growing even closer than before in the lead up to the World Cup.

Germany is not doing too well and the anxiety, pressure and stress that builds draw them together, more than ever before.

They even lose their things in the airport together, Sydney her phone and headphones, Laura her passport for the ten most stressful minutes of her life.

They’re made for each other and yet they choose to mutually pine after one other.

When the younger German woman gets injured in the last training session before their first match of the tournament, Laura worries herself sick.

She’s physically ill with nerves and throws up as she waits for the Bayern Munich midfielder to get back from her MRI scan.

The striker couldn’t accompany Sydney to her scans because she had to finish up the training session with the rest of the team, so she is left to anxiously pace her and Lina’s shared apartment.

She keeps her phone close but as hard as she’s willing it to happen, does not receive any messages or calls from the younger blonde.

Laura is fearing that she might vomit again when there’s a knock on her door.

She flies to open it and nearly pulls Sydney into her arms when she sees her standing there.

The Eintracht Frankfurt player only doesn’t because of Sydney’s heavily bandaged knee and gently places her arms around the taller woman instead.

‘Just a slight sprain. Martina isn’t sending me home so I'll be available for selection after the first game.’ Sydney murmurs.

‘Syd…’ She sighs in relief.

‘I was so scared.’ The midfielder confesses shakily.

‘Me too. Me too.’

Laura holds Sydney closer and firmer, the two of them simply standing in the doorway for a long moment.

******

The way their World Cup run ends devastates them both but the midfielder more so.

Her sobs echo long into the night, Laura’s arms tightly wrapped around her waist, providing some semblance of comfort.

She cries and cries, the forward doing everything she can to assure Sydney that she did not let anyone down.

‘You were not selfish. You are not selfish. You had the courage to fail and that makes you the bravest person I know.’ Laura promises.

The shorter blonde tries to make her see that her two solo attempts on goal, in her only forty three minutes of World Cup playing time is an impressive feat. One that she should be proud of, given the pressure she had been under.

Sydney’s body shakes with the force of her emotions but she manages to turn her face into the side of Laura’s neck, burying it there.

The Eintracht Frankfurt player feels the drops of salty tears against her skin and eventually in the material of her shirt as they soak through.

Her own tears drip down the sides of her face and onto the pillow but she’s got the younger German woman in her arms so she is sure she is going to be alright. She puts her faith in the Bayern midfielder.

The woman in question is completely shattered but she knows that she will be okay because Laura’s got her.

Laura has never let her down before and Sydney has no reason to doubt her now.

******

It’s shortly after Christmas when Sydney finds out that Laura has a girlfriend.

Well she sorta finds out from social media.

She’s hanging out with a few of her club teammates at a dive bar and aimlessly scrolling through Twitter as she waits for Lina to come back with the drinks.

She doesn’t usually spend much of her time on social media but every now and then she does look through the various platforms.

A particular post catches her eye, her stomach dropping when she sees that it’s speculation on Laura’s love life.

The hazel eyed woman knows that fans can sometimes get carried away but when she clicks on the post, she realises it’s part of a thread.

The more she looks at the sequence of posts, the more uncertain she feels.

Laura would tell her if she were seeing someone right?

Sydney feels like her world is tilting off balance.

The striker means so much more to her then she lets on and now she can’t help but regret that decision.

She’s too late. The Eintracht Frankfurt player has moved on.

A weak exhale leaves her and she takes several deep breaths rapidly in a desperate attempt to steady herself.

It must not be working because there’s a hand on her shoulder, tapping her frantically.

‘W-What?’ She chokes out.

‘Sydney are you okay?’

‘Yeah why wouldn’t I be?’

Her voice sounds flat even to her own ears and Giulia clearly doesn’t buy it.

‘Syd are you sure? You look really pale.’

The midfielder does her best to feign coughing and stands up, saying, ‘I’m sorry but I actually think I’m coming down with something. I’ll take a rain check for our night out okay?’

‘Sure, feel better soon Syd. Do you want one of us to drop you home?’

Giulia, Lea and Maxi all offer to but Sydney shakes her head.

‘I’m okay to get home on my own. It’s not far anyway.’

‘Send me a text when you get home so that I know you are safe.’ Lea calls out as the German midfielder begins to leave.

Sydney gives a half hearted wave and quickly makes her way to her car.

As soon as she’s in the vehicle, she begins to cry.

She should have said something earlier, should have told Laura even a fraction of what she feels for her.

A fraction would have been better than nothing at all.

She thought she and Laura had been growing closer and she’s been working up the courage to say something for a while.

She should have worked faster because the older blonde has obviously gotten tired of waiting. She just thought that Laura was content with the way things were between them.

The forward never said anything so Sydney never thought otherwise.

Maybe she should have.

It’s perfectly bad timing on the former Penn State player’s part to call then.

The younger of the pair hesitates, staring at the ringing phone in her hand.

Laura’s contact is a familiar one and Sydney vividly remembers taking the photo for it.

She had sneakily snapped it with the shorter blonde’s own camera while she had been sleeping on the long plane ride to Australia.

Her hair is adorably mussed up in it and if one squinted, they can see drool in the corner of Laura’s open mouth.

Waru is featured too, the knitted koala having been loosely tucked into the striker’s arms as she slept.

The Bayern midfielder had never told Laura that she had been the one to take the photo but the older woman had known immediately.

She’d sent the photo, along with a rolled eyes emoji to Sydney as soon as she received the developed film photos back.

Sydney has never hesitated when it comes to the forward, except when it came to sharing her feelings for her.

Now as her finger hovers over the accept call button, she is terribly afraid that she is going to be responsible for her own heartbreak.

Biting her lip hard, she swipes to pick up the call.

‘Hey Syd!’ Laura excitedly greets.

‘Hi.’ The hazel eyed woman softly answers.

She tilts her head upwards, trying to keep a fresh wave of tears from falling.

‘Sydney? What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. I’m okay Laura.’

There’s a brief moment of silence on the other end and then the striker gently says, ‘Syd you don’t sound okay…you sound like you’ve been crying…’

‘Haven’t been.’ Sydney tries to insist.

‘Sydney whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m here for you no matter what.’

Laura’s tone is earnest and the younger blonde can no longer choke down the lump in her throat.

Gripping her phone tightly, she covers her mouth in a failed effort to stifle the broken sob that escapes.

‘Sydney? Syd please, what's wrong?’ The Eintracht Frankfurt player begs.

The midfielder doesn’t know it but Laura is pacing her apartment, close to tears herself because of how helpless she feels.

Sydney sounds so sad and in pain and she can’t help her because she doesn’t know why.

In her car, the Munich native lets out a trembling whimper.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you have a girlfriend?’

Her sentence is filled with a hurt so raw that Laura feels it all the way over in her different city.

‘I-I’m happy for you but I just…I just-’

The midfielder can’t continue, too focused on trying to breathe through her tears.

‘Syd I don’t have a girlfriend. Where did you hear that?’

At her words, Sydney feels her heart ease.

It’s like the tight band constricting it disappears. All of a sudden, her heart is beating properly again.

‘Y-You don’t?’ The hazel eyed woman tentatively stammers.

‘I don’t.’ Laura confirms.

‘I’m sorry. I saw a post on Twitter and I clicked on it and then it was a whole thread and I couldn’t stop looking at it. I’m sorry I lost my mind a little. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ Sydney rambles.

‘Syd it’s okay. Really it’s okay. Social media can get to you sometimes.’ The striker reassures her.

Sydney lets out a relieved breath and whispers a small, ‘I’m sorry. I’m okay now I promise.’

It’s quiet on Laura’s end for a moment before she softly says, ‘Hey Syd? You never have to worry about me getting a girlfriend because you would be the first one to know if I did. I only have eyes for one person.’

’You do?’

If the midfielder’s voice was barely audible before, it’s tiny now.

‘Yeah.’

Laura’s own voice is minute too but she has never meant anything more.

******

It’s a week later at New Year’s that Sydney and Laura reunite.

The hazel eyed woman doesn’t say a word, simply walking into Laura’s arms as she stands waiting by the check in counter.

She fits perfectly into them, tucking her face into the side of the shorter blonde’s neck.

Her arms instinctively go around Laura’s waist and she presses a short kiss onto the striker’s sensitive skin.

Laura gasps faintly, staring at Sydney with wide eyes when she steps back.

‘What was that for?’

The midfielder simply smiles gently, ‘You aren’t the only one with eyes for only one person.’

******

Gold was the colour of the leaves on the tree in front of their rented villa.

It’s by the beach and Laura squeezes Sydney’s hand in hers as they pull their respective suitcases into the door.

There’s four bedrooms but the Bayern midfielder refuses to let go of the forward’s hand so with a bright grin, Laura tugs her into the closest bedroom.

Sam and Klara watch them go with a shared glance and rolled eyes.

Klara in particular knows that it’s been a long time coming. She’s seen the longing glances and noticed their growing affection towards each other.

Inside the bedroom, Sydney tosses her backpack on the floor and turns around to face the older German woman.

Laura’s about four centimeters shorter than her so she has to tilt her head upwards to meet the midfielder’s eyes.

‘Syd.’ She breathes.

‘Lau.’ Sydney whispers back.

She’s known for years that Laura is beautiful. She has had the colour of the striker’s eyes memorised and has dreamt of kissing her ever since they met.

The taller blonde is completely lost in Laura’s gaze, so much so that she misses the Eintracht Frankfurt player lunging for the stack of pillows on the bed until it’s too late.

‘Laura!’ Sydney cries out, reaching backwards for her own pillow.

The forward giggles, swinging her pillow at the Munich native.

Sydney eagerly makes up for lost time, joining in the pillow fight that Laura’s started.

‘I hope you know what you’ve begun.’ The midfielder teases.

Laura only smirks confidently in response and the two of them trade swats with the pillows until they physically can’t, laughing too hard to continue.

******

Time, wondrous time, gives Sydney and Laura the blues and then purple pink skies.

Morocco’s sunset is the most gorgeous that they’ve ever seen.

They’re sitting on the beach in front of their rented villa, watching the sun dip beneath the horizon on their final night before they fly back to Germany.

Sydney’s settled between the forward’s legs, contently leaning back against her chest.

Laura slips her hand into the midfielder’s, her heart warming when the younger blonde raises their joined hands and places a kiss onto the back of her hand.

It’s the latest in a series of kisses that Sydney has gifted the Eintracht Frankfurt player with over the duration of their trip. She’s placed them on the back of her shoulders, the inside of her wrists, cheeks, hands and forehead.

The past few days have been heaven for the both of them. They have learnt to surf, fooled around and soaked in the Moroccan sun with their friends.

They’ve also shared a bedroom and gone to sleep cuddled in each other’s arms every night.

It’s given the midfielder a kind of peace she has never experienced before.

‘Laura?’

Sydney’s murmur of her fellow blonde’s name is soft and tender.

The very sound of it gives Laura butterflies inside.

‘Yes Syd?’

‘I’ve never met anyone like you. I’ve never felt what I feel for you for anyone else.’

Laura smiles and she lightly pulls Sydney closer to her.

‘I’ve never met anyone like you either. What I feel for you is beyond what I feel for anyone else.’

Sydney turns around, running her thumb across the striker’s cheekbone.

The action is immeasurably adoring and Laura instinctively leans into her touch.

‘Isn’t it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me? Because there is no other way to explain how strong of a connection we have. I know that you’re it for me. You’re my person Lau.’ Sydney confesses.

Laura’s gray eyes shine.

‘You’re the only one for me too, Syd.’

The Bayern player gently cups the forward’s face, ‘What I’m trying to say is that I love you. I love you Laura.’

‘I love you too Sydney. Incredibly, ardently and with everything that I am.’

There is no hesitation in Laura’s answer. Why would there be when she’s known for years?

Sydney lets out the breath she didn’t know she was holding.

‘Can I kiss you? Please Lau-’

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence, the blonde striker pressing her lips onto Sydney’s and cutting her off.

Sydney gasps into Laura’s mouth, right away realising that she’s never going to have enough.

The taste of Laura is everything and more, the midfielder slipping her hands into the Eintracht Frankfurt player’s hair fervently.

She leans back after a minute, reluctantly breaking the kiss just to look at Laura and desperately try to memorise the moment.

Then she pulls her right back in.

With Sydney’s lips on hers, Laura is certain beyond belief that every other kiss she’s had in her life has been wrong.

There’s solely Sydney. Sydney is the only thing that matters.

******

Later as she curls up to sleep, tucked into her girlfriend’s side, she’ll tell her that she is so very grateful for their invisible string. The one that’s brought them together.

Sydney will agree and then kiss her again. And her kiss will take the very air out of Laura’s body and give it back. It will not matter that her girlfriend’s lips are already on hers.

All that she’ll want is Sydney, closer and closer and closer.

German Translation:

hallo - hello

125 notes · View notes

askinkiskarma · 2 years

Text

Illicit Affairs | Chapter X: Invisible String

Pairing: Neteyam x Human/Avatar!Reader

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX

Synopsis: Back from the dead, you have to heal in order to be able to move on and be forever part of the people. You and Neteyam finally find each other, giving in to desires you've both had for years.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ minors DNI!!!), some angst, fluff, all the feels, so many feels, the end

Word Count: 14,7k words (i need to be stopped)

A/N: The last chapter of Ilicit Affairs is finally here!! It took me a lot longer than I thought to finish this, but that's because this chapter is longer than my first like 5 chapters combined. I don't know what happened hahahah. I'm so excited to share this with you, the conclusion and culmination of this whole story. I hope you find it a satisfying pay-off, and I'd love to hear allll of your thoughts. Honestly, replies and asks make my life and I cry a little bit every time someone interacts with my content. I hope you have enjoyed this journey, and make sure you read til the end for a (hopefully pleasant) surprise ;)

As always, thank you to everyone who asked to be tagged, I love you all sm!! Ok enjoy byeee x

“Isn't it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me? A string that pulled me out of all the wrong arms right into that dive bar Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons One single thread of gold tied me to you”

Neteyam stood in the room that he knew so well now, he had memorised its cracks in the white walls, and he was holding your hand, slowly tracing the now-fading yellow bruises along your arm. He looked at the tube that was going into the nook of your elbow and followed his eyes along it, until it reached a little clear pouch with a liquid that was dripping slowly all the way into your body. You were talking animatedly with Kiri, Norm and Max, looking over a bunch of plants displayed on a table in front you. It was incredible to see you, you looked like a completely different person than you were a few days ago. As soon as you woke up, you asked for the treatment you worked on and got working, and your symptoms improved massively. You were still sick, and the virus was still there, not to mention the damage it had already done couldn’t be reversed, it had to be treated on day at a time. Norm said your lungs were getting better and your heart was too, but your kidneys, he thought they were called, still not cleared your blood properly, so you were still stuck in bed with a big tube coming out of your neck where it removed your blood and another tube where it returned it back to your body. Neteyam did not understand how any of this worked, but whatever science it took, he was grateful for. He did not leave your sight in this time, refusing to be parted with you for even more than a few minutes at a time. Jake helped Max and Norm bring in an extra large bed, like the ones made for Avatars and add it to the room next to your own bed, and he slept there, reaching over to hold you hand at all times.

There was so much between you that was still unsolved, still eating at his insides, but he did not want to overwhelm you or pain you in any way while in this state, so he was satisfied to just be near you and listen to your heavy breathing while you slept, and be comforted by the sound of the ECG machine letting him know you were still there, that your heart was still beating and it wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

“Ok, I think we need to start with how will we extract the proteins from these plants. I’ve not done protein extraction on plants, but I assume we can do some sort of chloroform or methanol precipitation? You and Grace used to work with plants a lot more than Max or I, so I think you would be the best at figuring it this out, no?” Neteyam looked at you with wide eyes, so perpetually impressed with your intelligence and drive, with how good you seemed to be at tackling any challenge. You were barely breathing properly, but here you were, trying to find a cure for this illness that almost took your life. The first full sentence you said after coming back to life was to Kiri, and he was a little jealous, but overall incredibly proud of you and your strength that felt like it could move mountains if you put all your might into it. Knowing you, he was sure this virus will be dead meat soon.

“Right, I can take care of the protein extraction, you can then run mass spectrometry on it and see what we’re working with. It’s going to be a lot of work, are you sure you don’t want us to take care of it? Until we figure out exactly which active ingredient in which one of these plants gets results, it’s nonstop. I don’t think you’re ready to be back to work yet.”

“I can’t sit back and do nothing. We’ll see how I feel, worst case scenario I do all the analysis from the comfort of this bed, deal?”

Norm was happy to hear that you weren’t being stubborn for once. Whatever happened to you when you died, you definitely seemed changed. As if death brought forth epiphanies that made you want to live, to heal. Neteyam was definitely not complaining.

After a while, everyone cleared, and you and Neteyam were left by yourselves. You turned around to watch him, giving him a little grin.

“You know you don’t have to stay here every minute of the day, right?”

“I disagree.”

You laughed heartily, your breath getting caught in your throat when the action made your lungs hurt, and the laughter turned to wincing, much to Neteyam’s dismay. Eventually, the wincing turned to sighing, and you didn’t look at him as you spoke again.

“Shouldn’t you be with your mate?”

It was his turn to wince, and he realised you probably couldn’t avoid talking about your issues forever.

“Do you really want to talk about this right now?”

“Neteyam… I won’t be the other woman. And I’m also not going to be the woman who steals a man from another, or who endorses whatever the hell this is. I need to make sure you are serious about this, about us. I might still not make the consciousness transfer. I need you to think about this, and if you do and you decide that it is me after all, then you need to talk to her. She deserves that, she deserves better than what she’s been getting. And I don’t want to be part of this until I know she is not being deceived or led on.”

“You are right. I will talk to her today, alright? But I’m not leaving you right now.”

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

You could feel yourself getting stronger by the day. It was a struggle still, your lungs feeling like they were going to explode any time you took a deep breath in and your heart oscillating between going a million miles a minute to barely functioning in the span of a day, but you were getting there. The combination treatment was definitely doing its job, and your body was no longer on the brink of collapse. Some colour returned to your cheeks in time, and since you have been eating about 15 meals a day because of how worried everyone was, you were gaining weight back, which was further increasing your day-to-day quality of life. You got a lot of sleep in the last few days, probably more combined than in the past few months, and you felt rested, for the first time in a really long time.

The first two days were the hardest, your body reeling from withdrawal on top of everything else you were experiencing. But you were feeling good today, and were trying to remain optimistic so as to not fall into old patterns. Having Neteyam next to you helped, your light in all the darkness, he refused to leave your sight, even in the face of more pressing matters.

The humans were closing in, you were told. The ships will be landing any day now, which only contributed to your slow recovery, as the anxiety was manifesting itself physically and hurting your progress. You felt stressed at the situation and more so at the thought that Neteyam wasn’t there, in the meetings and in practice, missing it all so he could stay with you. You hated it, worrying constantly and he wouldn’t hear it.

“It’s only a couple of days, Atan. Stop worrying.”

Today was the day they were going to remove the dialysis machine, which you were extremely excited about. You felt the need to walk, to stretch out your legs, to be back in the lab. You had a lot to do, a lot you had riding on this. You were trying not to think too hard on how you were doing everything in your power to further procrastinate healing, knowing that at some point you were going to have to deal with the trauma head on and open that damned drawer, that held all of your darkest memories, all of the things you spent your whole life pushing away. If you were going to be ready to heal, ready to move on, you had to do so with a clear conscience and a clean slate. You were adamant that you were going to find the cure for the virus and use it on yourself before you made a decision about the consciousness transfer. You had to be 100% sure of your choice, of your decision to leave this life behind forever, and you couldn’t do that if you viewed it as an escape from your current weak and disease-ridden body.

It took a while to be disconnected to the machine and get the tube out of your neck. From now on til you decide whether to go through with the transfer, you will have to do this for a few hours a day, which was a pain, but better than being bed ridden all day.

You put your feet on the ground for the first time in days, and you forced yourself to stand slowly, and quickly realised it was a bad idea, and your knees immediately buckled under you. Neteyam caught you with both his hands under your arms, and effortlessly raised you until your feet were a few inches above ground.

“Put me down! This is so embarrassing.” You groaned at your own impairment, and refused to give up, slowly starting to walk with shaky feeble steps. You felt both Norm and Neteyam hover over you, and although you were grateful for them, you wanted to scream at how upsetting it was making you having to be looked after like you were a baby taking her first steps. You guess, in some ways, you were.

You eventually got to your room, which looked untouched, if a little dusty. You were happy to see it again, happy to take it all in. It was a bit surreal, the whole experience. You didn’t realise how much it was all going to matter, all the little things, until you were dead on a hospital bed, begging Eywa for another chance. Every wall, every creak on the floor, every book, it all hit you suddenly, and you had to sit down on the ground, your back against the bed frame, so as to not collapse under the weight of this whole endeavour.

“Atan, are you alright?” Neteyam’s voice was laced with concern, and you tried to stop panting long enough to answer him.

“I’m fine, it’s just a lot.”

He slowly sat down next to you, struggling to squeeze in the tight space between the bed and the desk. His knee was brushing up against the side of the thigh, and you felt heat spread from the touch through your entire body. He gently raised one hand to the side of your face, removing strands of hair that were falling on it and tucking them behind your ear.

“Talk to me, Atan. I want to know, I want to help.”

You felt tears pool in your eyes, and you couldn’t look at him, couldn’t look anywhere but the ground as the words got lodged in your throat. This was going to be much harder than you thought.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Neteyam. I’m sorry that I almost died, that I did die, and that you had to witness it. I’m sorry for not telling you, I am sorry for not fighting harder, I am sorry for so many things.” Hot tears were falling on your arm laying in your lap and you struggled to find the words to speak. “I am still so mad at you, so mad that you left, so mad that you lied, so mad that you never told me how you felt about me, so mad about so many things, but I shouldn’t have kept this from you. We’ve been inseparable since birth, and no matter what happened, you deserved to know, you all deserved to know. You deserved to say goodbye. I am sorry I took that from you.”

You were both crying now, and he picked you up and placed in his lap with little visible effort, it was probably easier for him than carrying Tuk. You wrapped your arms around his neck and slid your legs around him to wrap around his back and you stood there, crying in the crook of his neck while he held you tightly, trying not to hurt you.

“I am sorry for leaving. Sorry for not talking to you about how I felt, sorry about giving up on you. I should have stayed and helped you heal, I should have been there for you to rely on instead of being yet another thing you had to deal with in this life. I am sorry about lying about Tiongli, I am sorry for not telling them all no from the beginning. Even without the Avatar, there was only one woman in this whole world I would ever belong to, and I would have been happy spending my whole life in this lab, if it meant doing it with you. I was scared, and I am sorry.”

He removed your head slowly from the crook of his neck, and grasped the side of you face with one of his hands, thumb trailing over your lips, tracing them from your cupid’s bow to your lower lips, and you shuddered at the touch, deep desire pooling within you.

“I love you so much. I have loved you my whole life, from the moment I was born, and I will love you until the moment I die. I am so sorry it took me so long to grow, but I am ready now. Whatever it is, I will brave it with you, and for you. You will never have to do this alone again.”

You were sobbing now, unmoored at his confession that you have waited for your entire life. You were so overwhelmed by the love and affection you felt for this man, for the appreciation of knowing he was willing to hear the deepest, darkest parts of your soul and share in that pain willingly.

“I love you too. I missed you so much.”

After crying it out on the crook of his neck, letting your human hands caress the soft blue skin of his back and chest while he held you, fingers running up and down your spine in a comforting motion, you eventually got up from his lap slowly, and crawled on all your fours to your messy old desk. You took a key that was taped to the underside of your chair, and, with a deep sigh and tired eyes, unlocked the bottom drawer of the desk. You took out just one thing. A bracelet. You smiled at the sight, and tightened it around your arm multiple times so it fit on your human form. You looked at Neteyam coyly, giving him a soft smile, and you saw his hand reaching for his own bracelet, with a gummy smile and tears in his eyes.

Maybe you could do this after all.

You eventually started working in the lab again, being a lot more careful about striking a balance between work and everything else in your life. You were still struggling to sleep, especially now that Norm and Max flushed every pill you had down the toilet, but you were trying your best. The best was when Neteyam slept over, and you just fell asleep flush against his bare body, whose warmth melted away all your nightmares and replaced them with much better, much lewder ones. You weren’t getting anywhere with your research, as Kiri found a lot of plants in the forest, and to do mass spectrometry and proteomics on so many proteins, and analysing them all was an impossible task in the time you had left. So in an afternoon, as you were hanging out with her, Lo’ak, Spider and Neteyam in the hub, guitar strumming in your hands, you had a lightbulb moment.

“Kiri, if you had to save one plant, just one on this whole planet, which one would it be?” Kiri was special. Whenever the rest of the kids argued over her heritage, making crude jokes about Grace and Norm, trying to figure out who her dad is, you always had a different hypothesis, that you never said out loud. Kiri was Eywa’s child, as much as Grace’s. She was the key to everything. Eywa was flowing through her, guiding her, and you believed she had a lot more up her sleeve than any of you knew, than even she knew.

“Hmmm, that is a hard question.” She looked deep in thought for a long time, and eventually it’s like a huge epiphany was released from her mind. “Pamtseowll!!”

“The Cat Ear plant? Are you sure?”

“I think so! I don’t know why that one, but that’s the only thing that came to mind, and when I thought about it, I just knew it was the right one! Why do you ask?”

You raised from the ground, placed the guitar on a bench next to you, and ran (more like walked at slightly increased velocity than normal) to her, kissing her forehead in a loud smooch.

“I’ll let you know!! Wait here!!”

You talked to Norm, telling him your hunch and asking him to treat a vial of the infected blood with the liquid extracted from the plant in question, that you already had in stock thanks to Kiri. It would take a while, but you were buzzing in excitement, feeling extremely positively about your idea and your new odds. You made it back to the hub where they were all waiting for you, and sat back on the ground, mischievously ignoring their curious glares.

“Are you going to tell us what this was all about?” Spider said, rolling your eyes at your antics.

“Nope.”

They eventually dropped it, and you sat together, talking about everything and nothing, trying to ignore the looming doom of the ships slowly making their way to Pandora’s atmosphere, and the deadly consequences that would follow them.

You picked up the guitar again, deep in thought. Before you could help yourself, you found yourself speaking.

“I saw my mum.”

Everybody stopped and stared at you in shock. None of them said anything, and you swore you could hear a hairpin drop for sure in this big hall, or your heart pounding in your ears.

“When I died…” you started cautiously, not even knowing why you started talking in the first place, but knowing it was too late to back off now. “…I woke up in this new place I have never seen before. Eventually, I realised I was on Earth, in my mum’s childhood home. There were pictures of her on the wall, with her parents, she looked young, and happy… and alive.”

“Her house overlooked the ocean, and I went and sat on the beach and she came. Like it was nothing, she just came to me, and sat me down, and watched me cry on her shoulder until I thought I was running out of tears.”

This bit was easy enough to speak about, now came the real problem. You swallowed the big lump in your throat and continued. “She told me she did the same things I did. That she had been sad, so very sad, ever since my father died, the kind of sad that never goes away, the kind of sad I am.” You couldn’t look at them, preferring the look of your guitar that you were holding on to dear life as you spoke, and saw small tears crashing into the strings, splattering everywhere. “She said she didn’t try… to stay alive, to heal. Just like I didn’t. She said she had a choice, and she chose to die, because the hurt was too much for her to bear. She left me, orphaned me, put me through so much pain I’m still dealing with a decade later.”

You heard small gasps and sharp breath intakes and the new information, but couldn’t stop to acknowledge it, needing it out of your soul as soon as possible. “I was so hurt, so mad at her. That she left, that she didn’t fight harder to be in my life, that she left me with so many scars because of her selfishness. And then it dawned on me… that was me. I did that to you. To all of you. And I am sorry. I am so sorry.”

They all slowly sat up from where they sat and gathered around you in a circle, and hugged you.

“We forgive you. We’re just happy you’re still here. We love you, we want you to know that you’ll always be able to talk to us. You’ll always have us. We’re a family. Sullys stick together.”

You felt each of these words deep within you, the forgiveness something you craved like air, and you realised how much it must have meant to your mum. You were happy you could do that for her. You were happy something good came out of all the misery.

Later that day, all the Sully kids left, and you went to your room, carrying your guitar in your hands, and found yourself again, sitting on the ground, reaching for the bottom drawer key and unlocking it with shaky hands and muffled cries. It was time. You reached inside it for a photo album, with old school printed photos on it, and opened it. Your heart was hurting so badly you needed to place your hand on your hand to try to settle it, settle the pain and agony you felt. The first photo was a photo of you and your mum in the medical ward, holding you tightly against her chest, looking really tired with the caption “you had just been born a couple hours ago, how crazy is that?”. The second one - a photo of you, as a tiny baby, only a few days old by the scribbling on it. Countless photos of you, in various stages of growth, in various positions, all captioned by your mother, who loved you more than anything else in this world and whose love was loud and clear in every one of these images. The tears kept falling off the laminated pages and onto your legs, and your anguished cries took over the music playing in the background. An image of you and Neteyam, in a crib, his body much larger than yours even as tiny infants, but you were holding hands, sleeping peacefully next to each other. An image of your mum with Neytiri and Jake, smiling widely for the camera. A photo of your mum in her Avatar body with all the Sully kids, her holding Tuk in her arms when she was just born. An image of her in the lab, mid laugh with a pipette gun in her hand - no one would ever have been able to tell how much hurt she was hiding underneath, how close she was to death. Finally, an image of her and your dad, taken by your dad, of them looking into each other’s eyes lovingly. The caption, blurred and blotched from dried tear stains, read “the love of my life, the light in all the darkness”. You closed the album panting, and brought it close to your heart, just holding on to it while you cried.

You were spent by the end, but wanted to push through, needing to get this done all in one go. You removed another thing from the drawer, a camera, the gift Jake have you for your birthday. You eventually sat on your desk chair, and plugged it into your laptop. You clicked on the only file on it, and gasped at your mum’s face appearing on the screen, smiling while adjusting the camera to centre her face. She started speaking, and you clung to every word, making sure her voice and words will forever be imprinted on your mind.

“My child,

I know it’s been a while since you have since my face.” she says with a small laugh.

“I’m making this tape for your 18th birthday, as this should be around the time when your Avatar is ready for you to use. I gave Norm and the rest of them notes and doodles and research and I think they can do it, my love. I think they can build you the ramps new life, one amongst the Na’vi. I am so excited for you, you have no idea.

Happy birthday, bunny. You will forever be the best and brightest thing I will have ever achieved. I am more sorry than you will ever know that I don’t get to see you grow up, see the beautiful, intelligent, caring and loving person you already are blossom into so much more, but I want you to know, more than anything, that I have no regrets.

I have lived my life exactly the way I wanted to. I have explored new worlds, I have contributed something good to the world, I have lived and I have loved deeply and unconditionally. I just hope you do, too. I hope this world doesn’t break you, my love. I hope it doesn’t snuff out your light, because in that case, I will have failed you, and I am so sorry.

I know you are sad, and I know you have probably been sad for a while, and I know this life is emotionally abusive, and it takes and takes and takes until there’s nothing left. But it’s also worth living. Because you can learn to take from it, too. You can learn to heal, and love and live, and replace whatever it took in time with even better fitted pieces. But in order to do that, you have to live, my love.

Even at 10, you have a tendency to keep sadness in, and don’t let it out. That’s something you got from me, and I’m sorry for that. I love that you got my eyes, and my addiction to music and my love for science and literature, but baby, I don’t want you to be like me in every way. You also have a tendency to isolate, and that, you also got from me. I’m hoping that will change in time, I’m hoping Neteyam, and Spider, and Lo’ak and Kiri, and eventually Tuk will be able to break through and allow their light to shine on the dark walls of this lab. But if not, I’m hoping this Avatar will.

I want you to know that it’s alright to hurt, and it’s alright to be scared and wonder if the path you’ve taken is the correct one. We all wonder through this life scared and confused and a little alone. But it’s up to us to want to make a change and it’s worth it, baby. I know opening yourself up to hurt is scary and hard, but it will also allow to love, to love fully and deeply, to give yourself to others and have them give themselves to you. There’s beauty in this world and this life, but you need to be brave to experience it.

Your dad and I love you very much. Enjoy this Avatar, and enjoy all that it can bring to your life. You are the brightest light of my life, and now it’s time for you to become another’s.”

You replayed the video until you were so spent, your eyes were closing painfully from the tiredness and hurt and tears. After that, you went to your bed, still clinging to the photo album, and fell asleep, to a song you hoped one day you’ll be strong enough to play yourself, but for now had to settle for the original.

I should've asked you questions, I should've asked you how to be Asked you to write it down for me, should've kept every grocery store receipt Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me Watched as you signed your name Marjorie All your closets of backlogged dreams, and how you left them all to me...

Norm came bursting through the door of your bedroom, waking you up in a panic. “What the fuck, Norm??”

“We did it.” He came to your bedroom and took you by the shoulders, shaking you. He screamed and jumped in the air.

“WE FUCKING DID IT, ACE!”

You jumped from the bed onto your knees, so you were almost face to face.

“WHAT? ARE YOU FOR REAL?”

“YES, OH MY GOD, YES!”

You jumped on him and he caught you, and you just spun around in your tiny room, laughing and screaming at the beginning of your new life.

Thank you, mum. For looking after me even after you’ve gone. Thank you.

You had to toil a bit with details, but by midday, you were ready to get the substance, now purified and diluted in appropriate medium for being inserted in a human body. You watched as Norm prepared, and held your breath as he injected it into your now healed veins. You didn’t know whether it would work, or how many doses you would need, this was all so new, it was kind of crazy you were willing to inject it in your body with so little information, but you trusted your mum, and you trusted Kiri, and you trusted Eywa.

You felt good. So good, in fact, you knew exactly what you wanted to do.

Neteyam was in the village, in a deep strategy meeting about how they were going to approach the upcoming threat looming over everybody. His mind was only half listening, the other half too busy with musings of you. What were you doing? Have you eaten? Did you take your treatment? He was worried about you after yesterday, and felt guilty he didn’t stick around for the night in case you needed him. He is pulled out of his train of thought when he hears a loud banshee scream, and everyone’s attention turns to the entrance of the tent, to which everyone rushes. When Neteyam makes his way outside, his mouth drops at the sight of you, beautiful and wild, free on top of your golden white ikran.

You were radiant, smiling widely at him while you removed your queue and your visors and brought your hand to your forehead and greeted everyone at the meeting.

“Hey, kid.” The Sully patriarch came over and gave you a big hug, a conflicted look on his face. “Are you sure it’s ok for you to use your Avatar?”

“We did it, Jake. We found the cure.”

His mother and father both gasped loudly at the news and hugged you tightly, and you held on to them with all your might, pouring all of your love and apologies into it. Neteyam was too stunned to say anything, pure bliss escaping his body in the form of silent tears, that he wiped immediately from his face - he was in a meeting with all the warriors, there couldn’t be tears.

“I’m actually here to steal the future Olo’eyktan, if that’s ok with everyone. I will bring him back in one piece, I promise.”

“Fine, but don’t be too late. I don’t want to have to use the radio, am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Neteyam saw you click your tongue towards where you were standing, and felt a ping of arousal at your sight, at your confident demeanour. You used to be such a wild girl before life got too much for you to bear. He hoped he’d get to see that in you again, just like he was now. His hands made their way to his mouth and formed a circle around it, and he screamed loudly for his ikran, which appeared quickly and landed next to yours. He connected the queue and both of you took flight at the same time.

You flew like that for a while, and he was mystified at the experience. He has spent so much of his time riding with other people, flying as much a chore as a delight, but nothing that will ever be able to top this. You were screaming, fiercely and ferociously, doing barrel rolls in midair on your beautiful banshee, laughing loudly and urging her to almost bump into him, to which he gasped in mock annoyance and returned the favour. He followed you to the Hallelujah mountains, all the way to a cave on one of the floating rocks. It was beautiful, and he thought it would probably be breathtaking at night. You both landed, panting from the adventure, and made your ways to each other after petting your ikrans affectionately.

His hands immediately found your face, holding you tightly to look deep into your eyes. Your eyes softened looking at him, and he could see himself in them, looking intense and troubled.

“Did you really do it?”

You raised you own hand and brushed an unwieldy braid from his face, gently tugging it behind his ear. He saw your tail swish enthusiastically.

“We really did it.”

Neteyam’s mouth immediately found yours, desperate for your touch, the feeling of relief washing over him and it was so intense this is the only way it could be manifested. He needed you, craved your touch, craved the closeness, craved to make up for all the time you two lost. You moaned into the kiss and deepened it, opening your mouth, inviting his tongue to meet yours and dance in the way that made you both weak in the knees. You put your hand on his chest and pushed him and it caught him off guard, because he tipped backwards and hit the ground with a painful thud. You smirked and raised an eyebrow, and he moaned at the sight. You immediately got on top of him, straddling his lap and pulling him by his chest piece until your lips met his again. Your hands went into his hair and his did the same, and you let out a wail when he pulled on it, making your head tilt backwards, giving him access to your neck that he attacked mercilessly, leaving trails of his presence all over you. You felt him, hard against your core that was dripping in arousal, and you thoughtlessly starting grinding against him, feeling your mind flooded with sensations you never wanted to let go of.

“Neteyam, we can’t.” It hurt you saying these words, it was taking every ounce of self discipline you had, which at the moment was almost none.

“Yes, we can. In fact, I think it would be irresponsible of us not to.”

You laughed, smacking his chest playfully at his words. You brought your hand to his face and caressed it softly, and he closed his eyes in bliss.

“I want to do this properly. I will be one of you soon, for the rest of my life. I want to do this your way. I want to be mated to you the Na’vi way. Then we can do whatever you want, however you want. Deal?” You raised an eyebrow at him, smiling mischievously.

“Only if you stop raising your eyebrow at me, otherwise I make no promises.”

You laughed again, and laid next to him with your head on his chest, hoping this moment could last forever.

“Hey, I have to do something, and it won’t be pleasant. I was going to go alone, but I’ve made a promise to not go about everything alone. So if your offer still stands, would you like to come with me?”

You felt Neteyam’s hand stop caressing your hair like it had been for a while. He starts getting up, pushing your head off his chest slowly in the process. He looked serious, concerned, but he had a calming smile on, and when he took your hands in his and held them tightly, you knew you were gonna be ok.

“Let’s go.”

You got on your ikrans and flew back to the forest, feeling comforted by the knowledge he was there, next to you. You didn’t have to do this alone. You landed in the clearing next to the exo suit that belonged to you dad. Your heart was picking up pace from the sight, but it was time. It was time to work through it.

You slid off Neyn’s back and made your way to the suit, running your hands over it to remove some of the vines and eventually reaching for the dash cam. It was probably long dead, but you had to try, especially after what your mum said. You fiddled with the screen for a while, and eventually, it turned on, making you jump out of your skin.

In the view of the camera stood a man, tall and bald, wearing military clothing and reloading the guns that came with the suit. You’ve seen him before, in a photo in one of the jackets you found rummaging for clothes to wear. His name was Lyle Weinfleet.

“Captain, I think if we go through this clearing, we should be closing in on the tree of souls in about 3 clicks.”

“You’re right. But I don’t think we should do it.”

Lyle looked stunned, and he stopped whatever he was doing to turn around and look and your dad. “Barlowe, what are you talking about?”

“This is wrong, Lyle. You know it, I know it, everyone here fucking knows it. And if you don’t, you’re even a bigger psychopath than I thought you were. We have to go back.”

“I’m not fucking going anywhere, Captain. These freaks are going to kill all of us if they get their way. Someone has to stop them.”

Your dad picked up his gun and pointed it at him. “Are you disobeying direct orders, lieutenant?”

“You’re not my squad leader, Captain. And I have orders from above.”

A fight ensued which eventually resulted in the destruction of both the exo suits. Your dad got out of the suit, and the last time the camera picked up was Weinfleet running at him with a knife.

You lowered the screen and sat in silence for a long time. Neteyam’s hands were rubbing up and down your arms, and you felt his chest radiating heat on your back. You were happy to have him here, as the new influx of information was overwhelming enough to make you dizzy. Your dad didn’t attack on that fateful night 19 years ago. Everything you believed your entire life was false.

“My dad was not a horrible person.” Neteyam said nothing and just stood by your side, allowing you to process everything at your own pace.

“I hated him my whole life. I felt so much guilt at his actions, the murders I thought he committed plagued my mind for years and years. I was too scared to come to the village because I thought he was responsible for the decimation of your people.”

“You came from him, you share his blood. There was no way he could have been that bad. Not with you as his daughter.”

You scoffed lightly at his comment, but were so happy he was here. You took him by the hand and walked him to the body that was now only a pile of bones. You looked further in the clearing, and realised another set of bones was settled in the ground a few meters from your dad’s. Good, you thought.

“I’d like to bury him, if that’s alright with you?”

You gathered all the bones and walked to a tree whose roots were hanging partially above the ground, creating a little cove. Rays of light were hitting it, and you knew then it would be the perfect place. You placed his remains there, and gathered flowers and ornate twigs that had fallen on the ground, and decorated the little space as well as you could.

“Thank you, dad.” You were comforted at the thought that, although he died on this foreign planet alone, he was loved, and now, he will be mourned.

You made it back to the village together, walking and holding hands, trying to get your mind off all the epiphanies you have had to undergo in the past few days. Healing was hard work, you snickered to yourself. You made it to the tent you knew Jake and the rest of the warriors would be.

“There you are. Was starting to get worried.”

“Ah, there’s nothing to be worried about, pops.” You laughed at Jake’s shocked expression and the way his eyes softened immediately as a response to your new nickname.

He had to wipe that expression off his face. He was Olo’eyktan. He was Toruk Makto, this was not inspiring leadership.

“Right. The humans will be here any day now. I think we will have to move our base of operations in the Hallelujah mountains, somewhere they can’t find us, where the flux is too strong for their equipment. It’s going to be a big ask, and a big adjustment, but it is necessary. You know the first place they will look is at the hub. And it won’t take long for them to find the village either.”

What he was saying made sense, but it filled you with a sense of grief. This forest, that hub, those labs, this village, is all you’ve ever known. To have to leave it for an undetermined amount of time, maybe forever, was hurting your heart. You knew Neteyam felt the same, you knew they all felt the same. Jake was a marine, strong and adaptable, he was an incredible person to have around in a crisis. But he didn’t quite understand what it means to belong to only one place, to only know one reality that was going to be uprooted and taken from you. That takes time, time you didn’t have.

“I think we should do the ceremony tonight. You have completed the Iknimaya, you are to be one of us now. It’s time, if you want it.”

You peered up at him, in shock, but the beating of your heart was so loud because it was excited, it was happy. It’s time. You knew it in your heart it was right, this time. You belonged here. Your mum worked so hard for you to get to do this, she foresaw this 18 years ago. Your dad gave his life for yours, even without knowing it. You owed them this, owed them your life and this new one you were about to get.

“And tomorrow, we can do the transfer, if you are ready.”

By nightfall, you were ready. Your hair was freshly braided, in a pattern different to what the Na’vi wear, but you wanted it to be a mix of Na’vi and human braiding. You had all new clothes, and Kiri was in your tent, painting your body in white lines, as was the tradition. She looked radiant, happy and beautiful, like she always was.

“How are you feeling?

“Nervous.”

“There’s nothing to be nervous about. You belong here, you always have, even when you were human. This is just formality at this point.”

“Kiri… I want to thank you. You saved my life. Your plants, your mind saved my life. I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t for you.”

“You saved your life. You asked me, you did the work, you found the cure. The Na’vi will be forever grateful to you, and Max and Norm, I hope you know that.”

“How about we say it was a team effort?” You laughed together and you kissed her forehead. You loved her so much, your sister for life.

Neteyam saw your body, adorning all new garbs, a golden frilly loincloth and green, violet and gold beaded top that hung from your neck to reveal a bare back that made Neteyam’s body beam with desire. Your left arm was decorated with a bracelet, the same bracelet he was wearing, the one that he gave to you when he was ten, that was now proudly shining on your person rather than hiding in a drawer, masking pain. You had bracelets around your ankles as well, that were softly clinking every time you took a step. Your hair was soft and braided in a pattern that was unlike the Na’vi ways, and it was fitting, Neteyam thought. You would never be only Na’vi - you were more, not quite human, not quite one of them, you were the most beautiful aspects of both and Neteyam felt his heart skip a beat at the sight, one which will never cease to take his breath away. You were his, forever. How did he get so lucky?

Almost as if you could hear him, you slowly turned around and he saw your eyes searching the crowd until they found him, and your face immediately broke out into a beaming smile, that slowly changed into a gaze filled with yearning and love….and lust. Neteyam gulped audibly at your expression, so intense it was making him crazed enough to almost consider taking you away right now, ceremony be damned, and coax screams out of you he would be sure anyone else would cower in shame at. But not you. You were his match, his twin flame, and he knew whatever he wanted to take from you, the screams, the pleasured pains, the moans and panted breaths, you would give willingly, and would take his in return, until you were both so spent you collapsed in aching bliss.

He waited though, despite his progressively harder to ignore twitch, knowing he wouldn’t, couldn’t rob you of this moment, knowing the waiting and anticipation would be worth it in the end.

The ceremony was ethereal, magical, and he couldn’t help reminisce about his own, years and years ago. The people all stood around you, waiting for the Olo’eyktan to say the words that will make it official. Neteyam saw his father approach you, wearing all the garbs worthy of a chief of the Omatikaya, and placed both his arms on your shoulders, smiling proudly. You were a Sully now, for all intents and purposes, and his father looked at you the same way he looked at all his children. Neteyam’s heart swelled at the sight, taking in the familial interaction.

“Ngenga 'ite Omatikayaä luyu set. Na'viyä luyu hapxì. (You are now a daughter of the Omaticaya. You are part of The People.)”

Neteyam made his way by your side, and he watched as the rest of his family did the same. He placed both of his hands on your body, one over your heart, and the other on your back. His family did the same, and he noticed tears in everyone’s eyes, including yours and his own. This was a moment none of them thought they’d get to see, that you never expected to experience, and Neteyam said a silent prayer to Eywa, thanking her for bringing the love of his life back to him, and into the clan.

After the celebration, you excused yourself from everyone, tired and dazed, as well as too impatient to wait for what you have wanted, needed for days, months, years. You found Neteyam casually talking to some friends, and you touched his back lightly, so lightly it was barely there. He shuddered minutely, and turned his body to face you. He took your breath away, always, but particularly today, in this light, under these circumstances, wearing his ornate clothes and that bracelet, the one that you would both wear for the rest of your lives. That one that meant forever.

“Come.” He said, and he looked at you like you were a meal that he’s been starved from, that he was going to devour. You bit your lip in excitement and followed him.

You went for a swim in a tiny lake not too far from the village. You swam together like that for hours, kissing and touching each other under the water, just feeling him. The anticipation was building strongly, and as the last of the paint on your body dissipated, you left, with hurried steps, quickly making your way towards the Tree of Souls.

Your entire body stalled at the sight. You have seen images of it, areal videos taken from drones and helicopters, you saw it all, and yet nothing could have prepared you for the beauty of this place, for its magnitude and significance. The air felt thick, charged with energy, and you could hear whispers all around you, soft, almost imperceptible, but they were there. Eywa was here, just like she was all around you, but here, you felt her stronger, almost palpably so. You made your way through the willow-like branches, seeing the purple hue illuminate your skin, and you just walked, taking it all in, touching it, experiencing it fully. You were so happy, it made you anxious. You’ve never felt happiness like this, and you were scared it wasn’t going to last, scared of knowing that the fall from such a high would break all of your bones, crush you forever. You felt Neteyam’s gaze on you, electrifying every inch of your body its gaze was touching. You could feel him, in your bones, you knew what he was feeling, what he was thinking. You shared a soul, you always have. “He is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

You looked at him and your breath hitched in your throat at the sight; he was the most gorgeous human you have ever seen. He was beautiful and angelic and looking at you like you were prey that he wanted to exert complete control over - and you didn’t mind. You wanted him so badly and you have waited for this for what feels like lifetimes. You knew looking at this man in front of you that you would allow him to ruin you, you would beg him to kill you softly, slowly drive out any ounce of sanity from your body orgasm by orgasm until there was nothing left of you but the echoes of moans you couldn’t help exhale. It was almost desperate, your need for him, and you heard your breath become laboured, panting with craving and ache. You saw him make his way towards you slowly, and stopped only when he was towering over you, and you had to bring your chin up to be able to look into his eyes. His hands immediately found your jaw, that he gripped tightly, making sure you weren’t going to look away from him, from that gaze that drove you mad and made you throb in pain, begging to be filled, craving sweet release.

“You’re mine. I can’t believe you’re mine. I have waited for so long, I have dreamt about this for years. The one thing I have wanted more than life itself and you are here. You’re mine. Forever.”

You were fully panting now, not even an ounce of shame on your features. You wanted him, you wanted him to know what he was doing to you. Wanted him to control you, to possess you, to take what was his, what has been his and will be his forever.

“Say it. I need to hear you say it, Atan.”

His grip on your jaw tightened, and you moaned, unable to stop yourself, not wanting to stop yourself.

“I am yours, Neteyam. I have always been yours. I will always be yours. It’s you and me, forever.”

It was his turn to moan, gaze turning animalistic now, in a way that you felt within you, deep within you, and you knew you were dripping wet now, knew he was going to love it, was going to revel in it, and you smirked at the thought.

You saw him stop and reach back for his queue. You gasped silently at the sight, but smiled at the thought he wanted this, that after this, you would be his for life. You reached back for yours, and you both held them close to each other, just out of reach, looking deeply in each other’s eyes.

“Do you trust me?”

“You know I do. I trust you, Neteyam, do whatever you want to me. I’m yours to take, I’m yours.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.” You joined the queues and nothing in the world could have ever prepared you for the overwhelming sensations and feelings, for the intense intimacy of feeling Neteyam’s deepest desires and emotions, for how deep his love and care for you actually ran, for how desperate he was to own you, to make you his. You felt his breathing and his heartbeat, and he felt yours and the desire you both felt exploded all around you.

He aggressively smashed his lips into yours, both of you moaning at the contact, at the need that enveloped both your beings like the rushing water of the river you loved swimming in together. Your fingers immediately made their way into his hair, his beautiful hair that seemed to sometimes have a life of its own, and thinking of how hot you found it made you only more enthusiastic, gripping at it tightly and pulling on it. He smirked in the kiss, parting your lips enough to look at you with a mischievous grin that you loved more than you could put into words. You loved this man - you loved his kindness and compassion and sacrificial streak and patience, but you loved this side of him more, the side only you ever got to experience, that no one else knew about. How passionate and adventurous he was, how masculine and possessive of what was his he was, how wild and untamed a streak he hid under the well-behaved and poised demeanour. How well he matched you. Your twin flame. He placed both of his hands on you thighs, just underneath your ass, and lifted you effortlessly, and you instantly wrapped both your legs around him, never breaking the kiss, that was now just a mess of panted moans, lips and intertwined tongues. You felt your back hit a tree bark and you gasped, breaking the kiss and watching as the action left a trail of spit in between you. His mouth moved to your neck, that he sucked and licked until it was hurting, and he pushed you into the tree, trying to remove whatever space there still was in between you two. As he did so, you felt his chest and pelvis push aggressively into you, and you whined when you felt his dick brush up against you core, hard as a rock and hitting a spot that was making you lose your ability to see around you. He started moving his hips into yours, drawing circles into your pelvis and you matched him, desperate for release, desperate to want to give him your first of many orgasms of the night. You weren’t going to be satisfied until he made you cry in pain, in pleasure, until the line between them was blurred.

Neteyam saw your breathing quickened and he smirked in a way that only made further pleasure pool in your depths. “Coming already, my love? You wanted me that badly, huh?”

“Dick.”

“You’ll get that later, too.”

You wanted to laugh, but couldn’t do anything but mewl in agonising ecstasy as he hit a spot that immediately made you see stars and you rode out your first orgasm, crying into the crook of his neck.

“Good girl.” He didn’t let you come down from you high, as he removed your body from the tree and placed you on the mossy, comfortable ground, and both his hands went on your knees, making sure you were keeping them apart, as soon as he could feel you wanting to close them to accommodate for your post-orgasm sensitivity.

“No, Atan. You wanted this, remember? You have to keep your pretty legs spread for me.”

The entire world was spinning around you, a mess of purple, pink and white, as he traced his hands slowly, too slowly, painfully slowly up your thighs, until he reached your hips, where you loincloth was tightened, and you felt him make quick work of the knot, inhaling deeply as he took it off from you and saw you for the first time.

“Fuck, Atan. I feel like I could come just from looking at you. Look at you, a fucking writhing mess and I haven’t done anything yet. Look at this,” he said as he place a hand in between your folds, removing the slick that was so abundant it was now dripping down your ass, “Look at how wet you are for me, and I haven’t even touched you yet. The shit I want to do to you, Atan, will make Eywa regret ever making this tree part of the mating ritual.”

You saw him slowly lowering his head towards you legs, kissing and biting roughly up your thigh until you were screaming in pain. “Shh, Atan.” He drew circles in your thighs as he continued his onslaught to comfort you to some extent, except it was only lighting your skin on fire, only strengthening your need for that second release.

“Fuck, Neteyam, please.”

“Begging so soon, my love? What do you need?”

“You. Your tongue, your fingers, anything. Fuck, please!”

“Well, since you said please.”

He smirked again, the asshole, and you felt him licking your pussy from your entrance to your clit, and at the moan he released as he did so, you convulsed so violently you needed a while to settle, still trying desperately to close your thighs to make the sensation more bearable.

“Stop that, or I’ll stop. Do you want me to stop, my love?” He looked at you through hooded eyes and giving you a wild look that made you clench around nothing, and your hands found his head and you pushed him back into you, annoyed that he stopped, already upset at the thought that he wasn’t going to be doing this every minute for the rest of your life. If you had your way, he would. That’s all you would do. He laughed, but obliged, and continued his attack on your lips, messily kissing and licking, pushing his tongue deep within you, like your pussy held the potion for eternal life and he wanted to live in you forever.

“Fuck, Atan, you taste so good. So good, how am I ever supposed to stop, huh?” You started grinding your hips around him, moaning loudly and you saw him dry humping the ground, trying to get some of his own release. The primal animalistic action was enough to push you over the edge again, coming all over his tongue, that was still lapping at your insides, without any intention to stop.

You tried to push him away, the feeling so overwhelming it was bordering painful, your clit so red and sensitive now it was glaring and obvious, but he didn’t relent.

“Fuck, you are intoxicating. Come on, baby, I’m not nearly done. We’re not nearly done.” He pushed two fingers in you, which was incredibly easy with the amount of slick and cum you were continuously releasing. Although so sensitive, you immediately clenched around him, taking him in, and felt the familiar ache slowly building in you again. He pushed his fingers deeper, until his knuckles made contact with your folds, and you felt his thumb slowly, gently rubbing your throbbing clit as his fingers were hitting your g spot mercilessly. The stimulation was too much, and you felt yourself seeking yet another orgasm, bucking your hips wildly against his fingers.

“That’s right, Atan. Let me see you come all over my fingers.” That’s all you needed to hear, and almost on command, you felt yourself coating his long digits with your cum. He removed his fingers from inside you and you cried out at the loss, but he didn’t care, too busy staring at his fingers, covered in the clear viscous liquid enveloping them. He brought both fingers to his mouth and he took them both in and sucked on them, and immediately kissed you, messily and forcefully, and you moaned at the vulgarity of it, and the taste of your own orgasms on his tongue, which was exploring your mouth like he had your folds earlier. You loved it, loved all of it, drunk on the feeling, on the connection you felt to this man that knew you, so well, so deeply, knew your body instinctually, like he touched you and had you all his life, and you squirmed when you realised that now you had a whole life to do this, every day, you would never have to live without this feeling again.

“Do you feel how good you taste, Atan? Fuck. I will never get enough of this.”

With one swift motion, he removed your top from around your neck and took its place, squeezing your throat until you couldn’t breathe anymore, slowly choking you. You threw your head back and arched your back, eyes fluttering shut, just taking in this feeling, of being completely owned, completely in someone else’s control. It was exhilarating.

“Look at you. Look at how you give in to me, it makes me fucking crazy.” He squeezed harder. “You drive me fucking crazy. I have dreamt about fucking you for so long. So many nights, having to stroke my cock imagining it was your mouth instead, you have no idea how badly I need you. How entirely and completely yours I am. You own me. My soul and my mind. It’s only fair I own your body.”

The hand that wasn’t around your throat went to his loincloth, that he removed skilfully, letting it drop to the ground around him. Your eyes fluttered open to take him in, his glorious body and that magnificent cock, that was even bigger that you ever dreamt, and you struggled to gulp in the position you were currently in. Your pussy clenched fully at the sight, and you were drooling now, saliva pooling around your mouth that you licked off like a kitty looking at her favourite meal. His fist wrapped around the girth of his cock and he started pumping himself, and you were close to being done again just at the sight, never in your life seeing anything more sensual, more erotic. You needed him inside of you now.

“Fuck, please, Neteyam. I need you in me.”

“I know, Atan. I need to be in you. I need to feel you milking me, like the good girl I know you are.”

With a couple more strokes, he lined himself at your entrance and slowly, deliberately, agonisingly pushing in, one inch at a time, stretching you deliciously, fully until he bottommed out, and you could feel him hitting your cervix, you could see his bulge in your lower abdomen. It drove you to the point of madness.

Your hand went to his ass, trying to push him even further in, despite not thinking it was actually possible for him to go anywhere else, but it was still not enough, never enough.

He removed your hand and gathered both of them and pushed them above your head, pining them to the ground with enough force that you couldn’t move them anymore.

“No, Atan. You don’t get to dictate this. We go at my speed.” And with those words, he started rutting into you brutally, giving you no time to adjust to him or to the pace. It was rough and wild and out of control, everything you have ever desired in your darkest, best fantasies. It was so dirty, so wrong it made your insides squirm in pleasure, in uninhibited bliss.

He maintained his pace for so long it was enough to steal two more orgasms from you. You were on the verge of tears, now, so overstimulated you didn’t know if you were feeling pleasure or pain anymore, but you didn’t care, you wanted more, always more of this, more of him.

“Fuck, Atan, I can feel you squeezing me again. You think you can give me one more?” You nodded weekly, trying to match his ruthless pace.

“I want to come in this pretty pussy. You want me to fill you up, Atan?” You could only moan at the words, unable to formulate any coherent thoughts or sentences, anymore. You were way past that. Your breath quickened rapidly and you knew you were really close, and he could feel you too.

“Yeah, that’s right baby, come all over my cock. I want to feel you come undone.” Those words were enough to rip another explosive orgasm out of you, and your clenching milked his cock dry, feeling thick spurts of cum fill you up, painting your pink walls white.

He collapsed on top of you with a thud, still buried deep in you, and you couldn’t help laugh exhilaratingly at his reaction, at what just happened, at the fact his was all real, not just an out-of-reach fantasy.

Eventually, he rolled from on top of you and stretched out an arm for you to cuddle up to him, which you did, feeling grateful for every moment, grateful for the intimacy.

You were both still panting, still recuperating and you lay in his arms in peaceful bliss, trying to catch your breath.

“Thank you.” You said playfully, drawing circles on his chest.

“What for?”

“For being an even better lay than I always imagined you to be in my dreams. Although I’ll find it hard ever being a productive member of this clan again going forward.”

He threw his head back and laughed, and the sound filled the forest and your heart, so relieved to be able to hear it again, so immensely grateful to get to experience these feelings in your life, that didn’t end prematurely no matter how many bad decisions you have made.

“You’re very welcome, Atan.”

You peered up at him bashfully, and you knew then you did at least one thing right in this life.

You fell asleep in his arms, and woke up in the link room, wide smile on your face. Max was waiting for you, and he returned your smile when he saw how happy you were.

“You look happy.”

“It’s just been a good day.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” He looked at you playfully. “Do me and Norm have to give you the talk?”

“Shut up, Max. In a completely unrelated subject, though, can I have some birth control from the medical ward, please?”

Your body was weak, and you needed a while to adjust to being back here after a whole day in your other body, soon to be your only body. You felt weightless, despite the pain, so happy and so in love. Your knees were weak from the memories, and you felt a bit empty at the lack of touch, craving him again, even though he’s taken so many orgasms from you, you knew you were going to be sore walking back to the village.

You went looking for Norm, who was already waiting for you in the medical ward, ready to give you a new dose of the injection and take some blood to see how everything is looking.

“It was a beautiful ceremony last night. Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Yeah, definitely did. It was incredible, I have never felt anything like it before.”

“Are you ready for tonight?”

“I think I am. I opened the drawer, little by little, Norm. I think it’s time. I am ready to take my place amongst the people, I am ready for my body to belong, I am ready to not have to worry that this virus will turn around and kill me at any point. My mum and dad both sacrificed so much for me to have a chance at a better life. You guys sacrificed so much. You’re like my guardian angels. I owe you so much, and I am so sorry about how I acted. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Will you still come by and hang out once in a while when you’re not busy riding your ikrans and being an overall badass?”

“Always, Norm. I am still me, I am still a scientist at heart, and I am still human. Maybe my body won’t be, but I will also have my mum and dad, you and Max, a whole history and heritage that I don’t want to rid myself of.”

“Good. Then all’s forgiven, Ace. I am sorry too, for not telling you about Neteyam. It just didn’t feel like my secret to share.”

“I understand.” You got up after he injected you with the treatment and hugged him tightly, grateful for this man who is your family just as much as your mum and the Sullys are.

After resting, eating and taking a nap, you did your dialysis session for the day, and although loopy, you hopped in your Avatar body, still a couple of things you wanted to take care of before the transfer.

To your surprise, you woke up in your tent, a small blanket covering you. You smiled, realising Neteyam must have carried you back in the morning. He even put your clothes back on. You blushed at the need that immediately overwhelmed your body, and tried to calm yourself as there were more pressing matters at hand.

You made your way to the Sully tent, and heard Neytiri and Mo’at talking. Good, two of the people you were looking for.

“Mai’te! How are you feeling?”

“I feel great, sa’nok (mother). Thank you for last night, it was beautiful.” Neytiri brought her hand to her mouth in slight shock at your new name for her. She was so happy, it all felt complete now, after all this time.

You took her free hand in yours as well as one of Mo’at’s, and looked at them seriously, intently.

“I want to ask for your permission for the transfer. I realise a lot of talk has happened, done when I was a human, when I was sick. But I am not sick anymore. I don’t want you to do it because you are worried I will die. I want to be sure, I want you to be sure, that you want me as a Na’vi forever. That you are comfortable with me becoming my Avatar for life. I will not do it, if you aren’t. This means so much for me, and I know I have been a coward, for so long, but I am ready now. I am standing here in front of you, and I am finally ready, to be one of the people, to be in this body, to be your daughter. I just hope I’m not too late.”

They both looked at each other, and smiled, and looked back at you lovingly.

“Mai’te, we have waited for you all of our lives. You are the missing piece in this world, in our world. You brought forth a cure for an illness that has plagued the Na’vi for years and years. There is nothing we would love more than for you to be Na’vi. And there will be no better future Tsa’hik.”

Your eyes widened at Mo’at’s words, at the consent not only to join the clan, this family, but to do so as Neteyam’s mate, as the future spiritual leader of the Omaticaya.

“I won’t let you down.” You hugged both of them, tears in your eyes.

You eventually made your way out of the tent and looked for the only other person you had to talk to before this was all done. Neytiri told you where he could be, so you looked there first. Sure enough, you found Lo’ak deep in thought up a tree, above everyone else, and you climbed easily and joined him. He was startled by you, but he composed himself quickly and gave you a look that you couldn’t quite place. You could tell he had conflicting feelings, happy on one hand to not have lost you in one way, sad that he did lose you in others.

“Hey.” He was curt, and didn’t look at you, and a twinge of hurt settled in your chest. You had to make this right.

“Hey, you. Scooch.” He moved slightly so you could fit with him on the branch, which was more than wide enough to accommodate both of you.

“Lo’ak… please talk to me? I can’t stand the thought that you hate me. You’re my best friend. Please?”

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“I saw you leaving with Neteyam last night, after the ceremony.”

You cringed a little, the thought of having this particular conversation with him close to unbearable.

“Yes, it’s true.”

Pain flashed across his face and you saw a tear, just one small tear, fall down his face. You reached to wipe it off, but he beat you to it, so you awkwardly let your hand drop.

“I’m sorry, Lo’ak. I’m so so sorry. But I have loved your brother my whole life. My whole life, ever since I was born, he was there. And I love you too, I love you so so much, but we wouldn’t be right together. You are the best guy in the world, and I am not even close to being worthy of you. Neteyam gets me. He gets the darkest side of me, he knows my darkest, worst secrets, he has been with me through some of my most traumatic moments. It’s never been that it’s not you. It’s just that it can’t be anyone else. My whole life, it was always going to be just him.”

“You are my best friend, and I will always be here for you. You will never lose me. You will never get rid of me. I found a season of Friends on my mum’s directory that I’m pretty sure we’ve never seen. I can’t do that with anyone else.”

“I know you are scared, and I think that’s why you asked me. Not because you think I’m the woman you want to grow old with, but because you’re scared that no one else will see you the way I do. And you’re wrong, Lo’ak. Everyone will see in time that you are the best person in the world. You are incredible. And so many girls will be falling at your feet soon, you will be angry at yourself for ever pining over someone like me. I know you are scared, but I am not going anywhere. Can you please forgive me?”

He turned and looked at you for a long time, intensely searching your face, maybe for a sign that you were lying, or exaggerating, but he couldn’t find any, as he eventually dropped his gaze and smirked playfully.

“Do you really think girls will be falling at my feet?”

“Yes, I really really do. You are a catch, mister.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically and let out an exasperated sigh.

“Well then, I have to forgive you.” You both laughed and your back pressed against the bark of the tree and you stretched your legs to sit in his lap.

“Now, about that season of Friends…”

You returned to your human form in the afternoon, and slowly started packing your life away, ready to relinquish this room, once your mothers, with deep sadness in your heart. You will all have to relocate from tomorrow, so you will probably not be back here except to help everyone else evacuate and move all the equipment. You’ll never be back here, you realised with a deep sigh. So many memories, so many bad ones, but so many good ones too, this place was your safe place, your little piece of heaven, despite all the hell you went through in it. As you packed all of your books and trinkets you collected in time, you found yourself tracing your fingers over every surface, trying to commit it to memory. The coffee stain on your desk that was made when Neteyam spilled your mug with his tail without meaning to. The scratches on one of the drawers from all the times you pulled on it with your finger, since the latch was a little broken and hard to open. The wear and tear from your ass print on the chair that you spent inordinate amounts of hours in, be it analysing data or watching shows, or reading with your feet carelessly stretched on the desk. You moved on to your bed, that you sat on, and you sighed at the thought of never being able to sleep on a bed again. You will miss the comfort of the mattress and the sheets, and the space to really spread out however much you wanted, looking like a little starfish every time Norm woke you up in the mornings and his subsequent laughter at your ridiculous poses.

It took a while, but you were done about an hour before eclipse. Neteyam knocked on your door, with eyes slightly widened at the state of the now empty room.

“I’ve never seen this place like this. It looks so barren without your touch.”

You sighed and tugged at the insides of your mouth with your teeth. “Yeah, it does.”

“Any regrets?” You turned around to face him, giving him a small reassuring smile and taking his hand in yours, the size difference always a stark contrast compared to your Avatar body.

“Never.” You eyed the bed playfully and raised an eyebrow, feigning timidity. “We still have some time… what could we possibly do to fill it, huh?”

He looked at you, and you could tell he was turned on out of his mind, but also gave you a reserved look. “We can’t… not like this, I will hurt you.”

“I don’t think you realise you’re not making the point you think you are.”

He closed the door behind him with his tail and stalked towards you. “Fuck, you will be the death of me, Atan.”

You made your way to the village a little after eclipse, and everyone was following you. All the humans, Norm and the other Avatars and Neteyam, who was carrying you on his back like you were his little backpack. You were flushed and a little disheveled from earlier, purple marks all over your body, but it didn’t matter. Your hours in this body were limited. In your back pocket of your shorts you had a box of birth control pills that Norm gave to you as you and Neteyam made it out of the room. You laughed at his reaction and yours, both of you awkward and embarrassed to have to address it whatsoever. You placed your head on Neteyam’s shoulder, peering up at the sky, like you used to do when you were little. The village was busy and roaring, everyone packing their lives up for the move tomorrow. People looked at you as you passed by, unfamiliar with your human form clinging to the future Olo’eyktan’s back. Jake and the rest of the family met you at the big bonfire.

“Heads up, everyone. It’s time!” You smiled, and looked next to him on the ground, where your Avatar body lay motionless and you had to take a second to take this all thing in, the weight of what you were about to do hitting you full force. You started breathing in deep, shallow breaths, and you felt Neteyam’s hands running up and down your thigh in a calming motion.

“You’ve got this. We’re all here for you.” You reached over and pecked his neck, in gratitude.

Everybody in the village, all the Na’vi were making their ways through the forest towards Vitraya Ramunong - they would all partake in the ritual. Neteyam was nervous, out of his mind with worry and fear, although he didn’t want to impart that to you, so he carried you gently, trying to be strong, as he was sure your mind was also laced with concerns. What if you didn’t come back? Neteyam quickly pushed the thought out of his mind and cursed it for making him think about such things, making his heart constrict in his chest in pain at the mere thought. Of course you would make it. A part of him was also excited about the ritual. It would be the first time anyone under 19 would get to see it, to experience it, it was only the third time it would have ever been performed. It was a powerful ritual, hence why they needed everyone.

The tree was as breathtaking as it always has been, and Neteyam had to inhale deeper to accommodate for the deep charge of the atmosphere, for the thickness of the air. He heard the ancestor’s voices, buzzing quietly all around him. As soon as you reached the natural platform on which the tree resided, Neteyam put you down next to his family and tried to not think of all the images flashing across his mind’s eye of all the unholy things you two did last night right in this spot. His grandma was giving out orders about where to place your Avatar.

“Are you ready?” Said Mo’at, in her usual no-nonsense fashion.You gulped loudly, and Neteyam couldn’t help wince. Everybody was on the edge.

“Yes, I think I am.” He saw you turn around to face him and the rest of the family, as well as Spider, Norm and Max.

“This is it, I guess.” You grabbed his mother and youngest sister’s hands in yours, and squeezed, a small tear falling down your face.

“I love you, guys. Thank you for everything all of you have done for me. I am so excited to join this clan and your family, forever.”

Neteyam watched as you lay on the ground, naked except for some leaves covering you. He was going to miss you, he realises. This body is the only one he’s known you as for 18 years. He’s spent so may days and nights with you, with this small person who had so much in her, so much beauty and intelligence, so much hurt and pain, so much personality, so much fierceness and grit and so much care and empathy, he didn’t know where it could all fit in such a tiny body. You’ve grown up together, a human and a Na’vi, learning so much from each other, adapting together to the world around you and to each other’s mind and soul. He was going to miss this body, the body he fell in love with, the toothy grin and wild eyes so unlike anything he’s ever seen, your beauty marks that he used to trace with his finger and eyes.. and mouth, as of a few hours ago. You were everything, and have always been regardless of your difference in species, and colour, and height. He mourned a little, he realised, for the you you’re leaving behind, but was also incredibly thrilled to have you as one of the people, as his mate, mother of his children, Tsa’hik, for the rest of his life.

He hovered over you the whole ritual, unnerved at the way the tendrils were emerging from the ground and slowly enveloping you, until there was almost no bare skin left to see. His skin was covered in goosebumps at the experience, as the chorus of people asking Eywa to grant you life in a new body, undulating their bodies in unison, and his grandma’s words. It was unlike anything he’s every experienced.

Tìng mikyun ayoheru rutxe, ma Nawma Sa'nok. (Hear us please, Great Mother)

Pori tireati, munge mì nga (Take this spirit into you)

Srung si poeru, ma Eywa (Eywa, help her)

Ulte tìng ayoer nì'eyng hu ngeyä ya (And breathe her back to us)

Srung si poeru, ma Eywa (Eywa, help her)

Tivìran po ayoekip (Let her walk among us)

Na Na'viyä hapxì! (As one of The People!)

Srung si poeru, ma Eywa (Eywa, help her)

Eventually, the ritual came to an end when Mo’at screamed for everybody to stop. Neteyam reached over to your face, and removed your mask, kissing your cheeks and your hands, and saying a quiet “I love you” before he moved on, anxiously waiting to see if you would open your eyes. He let out a panted breath as you did, smiling tiredly at the family who was now jumping on you, making you choke slightly.

You laughed and his eyes found yours in the manic scene unfolding in front of him. You smiled lovingly and reached out a hand for him to grab.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Atan. It’s good to see you.”

You were sad as you were carrying your body, you tiny human body in your arms, and lowering it in the ground next to the Home Tree. You saw your family place a flower each in the little cove where you now lay, and you carefully redirected an Atokirina towards it, and watched as it landed on you, making its home in the little gap made by your foetal position.

You will miss this body, and all the memories you made in it. You will miss looking in the mirror and seeing your mother’s eyes and hair, you will miss being able to play her guitar. This body, however tiny and weak, was your home for 18 years, and it has stood by you no matter how many times you treated it badly or betrayed it. It kept you alive in a world that could kill you in an instant, and you were sorry to have to leave it behind.

“Thank you. Thank you, mum and dad, for giving me life and gifting me this body. Thank you for taking care of me, I know it wasn’t easy to keep up with this messy mind. Thank you.”

You turned around and fixed your gaze on your mate, the love of your life, the one that made it all bearable, and when met with his dazzling warm smile and his touch that set your soul ablaze, you couldn’t help be excited at the adventures that lay ahead of you, that you will always brave together.

-the end-

EPILOGUE

The man felt weak and dizzy, the entire room spinning and making him well nauseous. He didn’t know what was happening, what any of this was. He saw a bright light flashing across his eyes and he groaned in pain and annoyance at the way it was making his vision spotty. He grasped the hand of whoever it was that was doing this to him, and he was relieved when it stopped. It took him a long time to adjust to his surroundings, and was met with shock when realising he was in some sort of medical ward, surrounded by people in white coats. His gaze fixated on his hand, that was still wrapped around someone’s wrist, and couldn’t understand what he was seeing in front of him. Blue. A blue striped hand, that supposedly belonged to him.

“Captain, Captain Barlowe, can you hear me? You’re ok, you’re just disorientated. It’s gonna take a while to settle your mind, so take you time.”

He raised assertively from the bed he was laying on and made his way to the reflective windows all around him. He stood there, still, just taking it all in, finding it hard to understand, to process what was clearly displayed in front of the mirror. His body, in an Avatar.

“Captain Barlowe, due to your outstanding military record and previous acquiescence with this project, you have been chosen as one of the select few to carry out a special op on Pandora. You will be briefed shortly, but right now we have to make sure everything is in order.”

“I’ll be damned.”

For everyone who’s made it this far, I am so excited to announce the sequel series, The Archer, that will tackle all of the events of the Way of Water x coming to you soon 💕💕

Tag list (thank you thank you thank you x): @nuhteyam @eywas-heir @fanboyluvr @mashiromochi @puffb4ll @sassy-persona @simp4ff @mommyneytiri @inomoikawa @jackiehollanderr @jaysarchiv3 @meivap @dakotali @hlhl99 @eskamybeloved @erenjaegerwifee @winchestertitties @mommyneytiri @ultimatebluff @elizarikaallen @yeosxxx @ssc7514 @lolcaca @jackiehollanderr @bunnyrose01 @therealbloom @neteyams-queue @r1dd1kulus @whore4neteyam

@kikookii @iliyoo @velvetskies @rebeccao03 @im-in-a-pansexual-panik

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anonymityisfunwriter · 4 months

Text

The Twin Flame - Invisible String (Infinity War/Endgame Version)

"Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire, chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons. One single thread of gold tied me to you..."

Pairing: Sunshine!Reader x Grumpy!Bucky Barnes The Twin Flame Chapter List | The Grumpy x Sunshine Universe

"How do you do it?"

Steve looks up from the blank page he'd stared at for the better part of an hour. With Sam and Natasha gone to replenish supplies, it's just you and Steve in some derelict motel room. It's been almost a year on the run. You have no idea where you are. No idea what you're doing. You're not even really sure how you ended up here. And in spite of all of that, Steve still holds his head up high. He's still calm, collected. You've all lost everything and he takes it in stride.

You can see it weighing on him. And at the same time, it doesn't. He still believes that the world is good, still fights for the things he believes in with everything he has. He offers you a tight smile. "You know, I was just about to ask you the same thing."

You look at him strangely, a huff of a laugh leaving your mouth. "I'm not doing anything. I'm just... here."

He vehemently shakes his head, repeatedly tapping his pen on the notepad, "You don't give yourself enough credit. What you did... it was really brave. And I know it was hard for you."

"I'd do it again if I had to." You shrug. "Except for the Tony shooting me part. I wouldn't do that again."

"You just did it again," Steve points out.

"What?"

"Made everything feel brighter."

"A joke will do that," you easily reply.

He shakes his head. "It wasn't the joke."

You softly smile. "Thanks, Steve."

"I know this wasn't what we planned, but I really do believe it'll all work itself out."

You anxiously twist your fingers as you try to broach a topic you'd thought about relentlessly. You could see your friends losing themselves. You knew it because so were you.

Some days, you all looked so tired, so weathered from a year of constantly moving and fighting. Some days, you were all so angry, with each other, with the circumstances. On those days, the wind could blow in the wrong direction and it would set off an entire day of yelling and bickering with each other.

You saw less and less of Sam's signature goofy grin with each passing day. Nat was getting more anxious, more paranoid with every glance over her shoulder. Wanda had confided in you her desire to not come back from her trips with Vision and with each trip, you grew less and less sure that she'd come back. It seemed like every day was a new breaking point.

"There are ways we could end this. Without giving up Bucky. You'd get to go home. Figure things out with the team," you hesitantly broach.

"Like by signing the Accords?" Steve chortles, resting the notebook on the table.

"I don't think there's a person in the world that could get you to sign the Accords," you chuckle. "But...you could cut a deal."

He snorts. "It'd have to be one hell of a deal." He thinks over your words for a moment and it occurs to him that you didn't say 'we' when you talked about going home. It takes a moment for the realization to settle in. For your offer to fully sink in. "You can't be serious."

"Just think about it."

His entire face furrows with anger. "No! I won't think about it. And you shouldn't either."

You reach over the table to grasp Steve's hand. You look at him with an expression that begs him to really think about your situation realistically, "They were never going to let me go, Steve. You know that. Even if we all make it back, they'll find something, if it's not this, it'll be something else. You know they will. And I - I can't run the rest of my life, but you guys, you guys could go back home. Enjoy your lives."

Steve gently squeezes your hand, dropping it after a moment, "And what do you think Sam would say if he heard you right now? If he heard you offering up your life so we could go back? Do you honestly think he'd ever agree to a deal that locked you away for good?"

You open your mouth, only to close it again when you find yourself unable to respond to Steve's questions. Instead, you offer, "Sam would have his family back. He'd understand."

"I don't think he would. I don't think he'd ever forgive me. Or you. And even if he could, that's not a deal any of us are ever going to make."

"Four lives for one isn't a bad deal."

"No matter what anyone else says, you are not some pawn. You're not a bargaining chip," Steve enunciates. "You're a person. We come home together or not at all."

"And if we can't?"

"Then we fight. Together. Just like always."

You slump back down in your seat. You shake your head at Steve's unfailing moral beliefs. You admired that about him, how he always seemed so sure of himself, how he could always tell right from wrong. You found yourself losing touch with that part of yourself lately. You acquiesce with a sigh, "How do you do it?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. You - you bend when you can, snap when you have to."

"Something's wrong."

You look over at Sam, concern weighing his face down, "What?"

“They’re gonna need help. Stay here," he orders. "Keep them out.”

“But I could help.”

“And you are. The best offense is a good defense.”

"Sam!" you call after him as he takes to the sky. "...And he's gone. Sure, I'll just stay here all alone, fighting aliens all by myself. That's definitely more safe. And now, I'm just talking to myself."

"Hey," Bucky calls, his eyes having caught you standing here fighting all alone from across the field. "What are you doing all the way over here?"

You dodge a fist that flies at your face, "Being bossed around by Sam. Trying not to die mostly. You?"

"The same. Fighting a bunch of aliens that want to kill us."

"Behind you!' you scream out. Before he has a chance to react, the alien descends on him. There is no thought as a vine rips out of the ground, whipping around the alien's leg and dragging him away from Bucky.

He forcefully exhales, his eyes blown wide, "Thanks."

"Anytime." You smile up at him. "And totally not a big deal, but do you always strike up conversations when you're fighting?"

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, "Do you always listen to what Sam tells you to do?"

"Only when the world is ending."

"Same here."

Suddenly, a flash of lighting emerges from the sky.

"Oh, you guys are so screwed!" Bruce triumphantly laughs.

"Thor?" you call out.

“Rainbow Sunshine!” Thor beams.

You smile, still slightly winded by the fight, "It's good to see you."

"I am Groot," a voice grumbles out from behind Thor.

“Oh, right, this is my friend, Tree,” Thor introduces, gesturing to the tall tree standing behind him.

“I am Groot,” Groot objects.

You gesture to yourself, “And I am Rainbow Sunshine, sometimes just Sunshine. And depending on who you ask, also Pinkie Pie.”

“Sam,” you call, stumbling through the forest.

“Over here,” he panickedly shouts back.

“Hey, Sam,” you shakily exhale, finally in Sam’s line of sight. You stop a few feet away from him, a strange, distant look on your face as you stumble. He catches you before you hit the ground. “Sam, I don’t - I don’t feel so good.”

His breath catches in his throat when he sees your hand start to dust, little particles floating away in the air. “No!”

“Awww,” you groan, looking down at your hand slowly disappearing. “Why is it always me?”

And then you were gone. Right before Sam’s eyes.

And though you'd just witnessed yourself disintegrate into dust, in the blink of an eye, you were back. Completely fine. Standing in the forest in Wakanda like nothing had ever happened.

"Oh my God," you start, watching Sam with the same bewildered expression standing right in front of you. "We're dead! We're dead! We're dead, aren't we? We survived, but we're dead!"

"You're not dead," a voice calls from behind you. "It's been five years, and your friends need you now."

"Five years?" you jolt, whirling around to face the unfamiliar voice.

"There isn't time to explain. Your friends need you," Dr. Strange repeats. "Thanos has returned."

"Returned?" you squawk. "When did he leave?"

"Sometime in the last five years, I'm guessing," Sam sarcastically remarks.

You put your hands on your hips, looking over to Sam, "Aww... we gotta go fight again."

"So I've heard," Sam scoffs.

You politely raise a hand. Dr. Strange quirks an eyebrow at you as you pant with a hand resting on your knee. "Is there time for a water break?"

"No."

"Sunshine," Steve calls, waving you over.

"Sunshine?" Bucky repeats, a slight disdain and question in his words.

Steve dismissively shrugs. "It suits her."

"It's a ridiculous nickname," Bucky disagrees.

You're in the middle of a conversation with Sam on the other side of the jet, you hold out your finger to Steve and Bucky telling them to give you a minute.

"It just works. She's such a warm person. A freaking goofball. Especially after everything she's gone through, it suits her," Steve repeats.

"Everything she's gone through?" Bucky cautiously questions.

"That's a story for a different day, Buck."

Before Bucky can probe anymore, you make your way over to the two of them.

"How can I help my Star Spangled friend and - " you stop, clicking your teeth together as you look at Bucky for a moment too long. You narrow your eyes at Bucky, rocking back and forth on your heels. For a second, he thinks you're scared, hesitant because he did just try to kill you at one point. "Nope, sorry, I don't have a nickname for you yet."

Bucky's eyebrows furrow and in spite of his best efforts, a small chuckle bubbles out of his mouth.

"Told you, Sunshine," Steve repeats, a warm smile on his face.

"It's a ridiculous nickname," you playfully complain, taking a seat in between the two super soldiers. As the words leave your mouth, you lightly punch Steve's arm. "I've told you that a million times."

"You love it," Steve scoffs, throwing his heavy arm around your shoulders.

From underneath Steve's arm, you look up at Bucky with a wide grin, "Don't listen to him, it's ridiculous."

"So Sunshine?" Bucky gruffly chuckles, repeating Steve's nickname for you. "Very fitting alter-ego."

You laugh, rolling your eyes at him. "It's not an alter ego, just a nickname that Steve won't let go."

"Ah," Bucky nods. "So what is the alter ego?"

"I don't have one. It used to be 'The Asset' but now," you sigh. "Now, I guess I'm just me."

"The Asset?"

You do a lazy two-finger salute, nodding your head once. "SHIELD owned and sanctioned."

Bucky finds himself at a loss for words. Partly because it really does sound terrible. But mostly because he knows exactly how it feels to be reduced to nothing more than a piece of property. "That's... shitty."

"Yeah," you agree, twisting your mouth as though you've just accepted your situation as was is, like you've resigned yourself to the knowledge that it's what you are and will continue you be. Before Bucky can say anything else, ask anymore prying questions, you nudge your shoulder with his, the first time anyone's initiated physical contact with him in a very, very long time, "But just between the two of us, you can't trust people who give themselves super-hero names. Especially bad super-hero names."

"Good advice."

"You know, you're not that bad when you're not trying to kill me," you tease, your voice just above a whisper as both Sam and Steve snore from across the Quinjet.

He rolls his eyes with a huff of amusement. "Thanks."

"And you know what else? I've decided on your nickname," you gleefully tell him.

"Do I even want to know?"

"I'm going to call you James."

His eyebrows furrow as the smile he so desperately tried to keep at bay finally surfaces. "You know, I hate to burst your bubble, but that's my real name."

"But everyone calls you Bucky, so it'll be my nickname for you." You gently nudge his shoulder with yours. Bucky is more than a little shocked at the physical contact. It was even more surprising than when you plopped yourself down in the seat beside him when there were plenty of other open seat. You sat by him, of your own volition. You were joking with him, laughing with him, teasing him. And you'd given him nickname, even if it was his real name. "It'll be our own little secret."

And he's not really sure why, but the idea of having his own personal secret with you left a strange, warm fluttering sensation in the pit of his stomach. The feeling wasn't familiar to him. And there was a big part of him that was terrified of it. An even bigger part that relished in it.

The rational side of him knew that a few conversations and laughs didn't mean anything. Steve had told him, you were here because Sam was here.

You were just being nice.

And he was seeing things that weren't there.

Weeks had passed since the battle was won. There was no morning glory. There was no air of victorious excitement. It was quiet. Weeks of intense contemplation.

And yet, Bucky watched you hold your head high. You never let anyone see you waver. It was always the moments that he catches you off guard when he realizes you're as hurt as anyone else. Of course you are, he scolds himself. You just lost so many friends after being gone for five years.

In the days since the battle, a sort of comfort settled between the two of you. You were so honest with him.

You tell him about your own struggles. About yourself. You tell him story after story. You hold out your hand to him and he's more than happy to take it. Every night, he finds you up. Wandering the cabin like him. After everyone else has gone to bed. You two shared hushed laughter, whispered tales, and you share so much. With him. With him of all people.

He still can't figure out why. He doesn't know why you trust him when no one else does. You have no qualms of resting your head on his shoulder, of holding his hand.

It's too much and not enough all at once.

And now, it was finally the day that this nightmare of a chapter would finally close. Steve would put back the stones and it would all be over.

He watches you for a moment. You sit on the porch landing. On the second to last step, holding a bright yellow sunflower in hand. You sit there pensively picking flower petals off the stem as you all await Steve.

He's never the first to approach you, he's never the first to approach anyone anymore. He does so hesitantly, careful to show you that he means no harm. "You okay?"

Your eyes flick up to him and with a warm half smile, you shrug, "Define okay."

He chortles, taking a seat beside you. "Guess that's fair."

"I'm fine," you assure him. "Just a lot to process, you know?"

He's heard you tell stories about them both. Before everything went to hell, you all sounded close, like a family. "I'm sorry about Natasha and Tony."

"Just wish I could've apologized," you remorsefully admit. "Or at least said goodbye."

"Yeah," he sighs, knowing there's nothing that he can say to take that pain away.

You shrug, trying to let the grief that now clings to your skin like tar just roll off your back. Normally, you could pretend, but pretending felt so hard, so much harder than you ever could've prepared for. "Now, we just move forward. Live life to the fullest, that kinda thing."

"Gotta recoup those five years?" Bucky snickers.

You snap your fingers, pointing at him, "Exactly!"

"So what are your big plans?"

You point at him again, this time with a pursed, but genuine, smile. "I haven't gotten that far yet."

A laugh bubbles out of his mouth. "Just let me know when you do find out."

"I will." The silence remains for a moment. Though the grief is suffocating, you find a lightness beside Bucky. Every night, sleep evaded, you wander the cabin halls in hopes of finding him, in hopes of feeling the lightness once more. And every night, without fail, he's there. Sometimes, he hardly says anything. Some nights, it's only wordless nods, but he's always listening. There's something so incredibly comforting in his presence, something that feels like coming home for the first time ever. It feels like you can breathe again. He makes it all bearable. "What about you? Any big plans?"

"Honestly? I'm trying not to think about it too much."

"I think something good has to come from all of this," you meekly offer. "We turn the bad into something good."

It was the only solace you could find. Something good had to come from the blood spilt, from the lives lost. Something good would come of it. A new beginning, living your life to honor those fallen.

Something.

Anything.

He snorts, rolling his eyes, "And how do you suppose that?"

"Well, after all of that, it has to be for something. Some greater good. Some grand scheme."

"And if it's not?"

"I refuse to accept that," you confidently declare. "Something good has to come from everything. We just don't know what that good is. Just because we can't see it doesn't mean it's not there."

He opens his mouth to refute you, but decides against. He finds that he doesn't really want to be the reason you can't or won't see good in the world. Though he can barely admit it to himself, he finds himself enamored with your sweet disposition and wide eyed gaze. "Whatever you have to tell yourself."

You nod appreciatively. "Thank you."

He nudges his chin toward the flower in your hand. "So what's the verdict? Loves or loves not?"

You take a large gulp of air, a chuckle leaving as you exhale. You knew the game he was talking about. You're pretty sure you saw it in a movie once. You weren't playing a game of loves or loves not, but you find it incredibly endearing that he thinks you were."I was actually just killing time because I don't know how to work my new phone, but I think it's really sweet that there's a hopeless romantic beneath all that brooding."

"What will it take for you to forget that I said that?" he jokingly bargains.

"Oh, no, I can't just forget that. I knew it," you tease, nudging your shoulder against his. "I knew there was a softie deep down inside."

"Ha," he sarcastically chuckles.

"Deep, deep, deep, deep down, I knew it. One big teddy bear. Called it!"

"No."

"Yes!" you laugh, poking his shoulder with the stem of the flower.

"No."

"Yes!" you boisterously laugh, about to run the remaining petals of the flower over his cheek.

In one deft movement, he reaches over to take the bare stem from your hand. You move your hand further away, trying to pull it out of his reach. His hand successfully catches yours. You both look up, and in that same movement, he ends up mere centimeters away from your face.

The humor instantly drains from the movement.

And all you can focus on is how close he is to you. You can feel his breath dusting across your face.

Against all his better judgement, he moves forward. Out of focus, eye-to-eye, it's almost like the gravity is too much and it's propelling him forward.

At the incremental movement, the anticipation becomes too much and you take small intake of breath.

The moment your breath hitches, it's like Bucky is snapped out of his daze. He abruptly pulls away, clearing his throat, "We should - we should get back."

It feels like ice-cold water has been poured over whatever spark you thought was there.

You try to ignore the sting of his rejection, instead reminding yourself that it shouldn't even matter in comparison to everything else happening. You swallow all of the emotions that threaten to overwhelm you, slightly nodding your head and jutting your thumb towards the cabin. "Yeah, Sam's probably looking for me."

He briskly stands up, letting the flower along with its remaining petals fall to the ground. You look at the flower on the ground, its petals mangled, stem snapped, trampled beneath his feet like nothing.

And he walks away without a word. He leaves you there, wondering what you did wrong, wondering why you were so easy to leave behind.

He just leaves you out there, standing crestfallen on the landing.

"What do you mean you it's not working? Bring him back!" Sam frantically demands.

"I'm trying!" Bruce insists, his hands smashing over buttons as he tries to figure out how to bring back Steve.

"Guys," you softly call, nudging your head over to the man suddenly sitting at the edge of the lake. "Look. Is that-?"

Sam takes a step forward, craning his neck to get a better look at the unfamiliar man. "Steve?"

Sam's the first one to regain the ability to react. Though he moves slow with a pit of lead now sitting in his stomach, Sam slowly inches his way over to the bench where Steve sits.

While he walks over, you remain standing by Bucky.

You find yourself reaching for Bucky's hand, lightly squeezing it while he watches Sam finally reach Steve. "Are you okay?"

He takes a moment to relish in the warmth of your fingers radiating throughout his entire hand. All from one simple, fleeting touch. For the singular moment he allows you to hold his hand, you feel a glimmer of hope that maybe he wasn't leaving you behind. Before you can breathe your sigh of relief, he tugs his hand back, indifferently muttering, "Fine."

"Listen," you hesitantly start, feeling dread wash over you all over again. "About earlier-"

"Don't worry about it. It was nothing."

If you didn't know any better, you would have sworn that you could feel your stitched up heart being torn to shreds. You softly exhale, "What?"

He kept his eyes on the lake in front of the two of you, but even from his peripheral he could say your face slowly drop. He steels his resolve, telling himself that he's just seeing what he wants to see. It's not what it looks like. Your heart isn't shattering right before his very eyes. The words taste bitter, but he's used to bitter. He's used to hard truths and crushing fates. And he wasn't willing to drag you down with him. "It was nothing."

He can't pretend he doesn't hear the small sharp inhale that leaves your mouth. You clear your throat, pulling on a smile a moment later. "Right. Just wanted to make sure we were okay.... Are we?"

"Well, I'm fine," he curtly states.

He knows you'll hear the absence of the 'we'.

"Listen, James, if this is about earlier, I'm - I'm sorry, I just, I-" you start, fumbling for the right words to keep him from leaving you. You're not sure you could take it. You're not ready to utter yet another goodbye. The words clumsily fall out of your mouth as you desperately try to figure out how to fix it, "You just - you mean a lot-"

"I already told you to drop it, alright? It meant nothing," he spits, more harshly than he intended. "I don't know what you think, but I'm not your charity case, so go bother someone else."

He's not even sure where the words came from, how they poured out of him without pause, but they do. Each syllable is pointed, clear and concise, there's no mistaking what he said.

And from the gut-wrenching look on your face, there's no taking it back.

You sharply inhale like he's just punched you in the gut. Your mouth immediately snaps shut, your lips press together to hide the wince of pain that tries to form on your face.

He wants to tell you that he's sorry. Sorry for hurting you. Sorry for his casually cruel words. Sorry for leaving. He reminds himself that you deserve better than someone who can put that look on your face.

From your peripheral, you see Sam make his way back to where the two of you stand. In a choked whisper, you murmur, "I should go talk to Steve."

He nods wordlessly as you start making your way to the older man.

As you start walking, you take several deep breaths to calm your fracturing heart.

You're good at playing pretend, pretending like your heart had been shattered, like almost everyone in your life hadn't just left you behind. The mask is almost too easy to slip on.

“Steve?” you ask, hesitantly broach the much older man with features so much similar to your friend.

You know it's just denial, but you don't want to believe that Steve Rogers is standing in front of you. His gray hair and weathered face taking place of the friend that stood before you only minutes ago.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he warmly greets, a kind smile on his face.

“Wow, even after all that the nickname sticks,” you halfheartedly chuckle.

“Yeah, guess it does.”

"So are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?" you joke. Steve chuckles, shaking his head. You reach out for his hand, gently squeezing it. He finally meets your gaze, and you can feel another fracture in your heart when his distinct blue eyes find yours. It confirms that it's Steve. It's really him, and now it was time to say goodbye. Time to mourn another friend. Time for another person to leave you. It's not fair, you tell yourself, your friends have no obligation to you, no obligation to stay. Just because you couldn't move on didn't mean that everyone else couldn't get a chance to. You swallow the bitter sorrow that rises in your throat like bile, asking a simple question, “Are you happy?”

He definitively nods, staring wistfully out to the lake before you. “I am.”

You sharply inhale and then slowly exhale, “Then that’s all that matters to me.”

Steve nudges his head in the direction of the two men standing several yards away from you. “He likes you, you know?”

No, he doesn't, you internally tell yourself. Instead, you shake your head, a light snicker leaving your mouth as you try to keep the tears at bay. “Once a meddler, always a meddler.”

“It’s true. Bucky’s a little-“

“Grumpy?” you supply.

Steve chuckles,“He's rough around the edges, but he’s a good man. You two have a lot in common. Two sides of the same coin.”

"That was corny," you easily quip.

"It comes with the old age," Steve retorts.

"Any other wise words of wisdom?" you ask, hoping he'll tell you how you can past all this loss.

You wonder if he'll finally tell you how he does it - how he did it.

"You deserve it."

"What?"

"You deserve it," he repeats. "Peace."

"Okay, you lost me a little bit."

He shrugs. "There's more to life than the next fight. And people have a hard time accepting what they don't think they deserve, but you do. That and so much more."

"Speaking from experience?"

"Something like that," he cryptically offers.

You shakily inhale, preparing yourself for your next goodbye. You wish you would've known. You wish you could've planned what to say, so you wouldn't miss a single thing. You want to reminisce with him, for him to tell you what to do, for the answer of how you continue on like this. More than anything, you want to thank him, to tell him that he'd left a permanent mark on you. Instead of saying all of that, you rest your head on his shoulder, something you'd done so many times. The only difference is that you're so viscerally aware this time will be the last. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“Me too.”

Only allowing yourself the a short moment of tears silently trickling down your face, you stand and say your final goodbye. You wipe the tears before you walk about to where Sam and Bucky stand.

And when you finally find the strength to finally walk away, your eyes instinctively find Bucky, only for the heartbreaking reminder to settle back in. You quickly divert your eyes, staring at the grass beneath your feet as you rejoin them.

You offer a small, tight lipped smile to the two of them.

"You okay?" Sam asks when you remain silent.

"Yeah," you nod, your eyebrows furrowed as the three of you stand amongst the shattered remnants of your family. "I'm fine."

The silence lasts for a long while. It was a terrifying thought, breaking that silence as the three of your stared out at the water before you, terrified of whatever came next.

None of you knew how right you were.

After the three of you parted ways, the silence never ceased. And the two of you sat in silence, Sam only broke it as you both climbed into his car. The question was innocuous, but loaded with so many unknowns, "So now what?"

"I have no idea," you slowly exhale.

You both decided to start at the Compound. You already knew it was mostly destroyed, but a big part of you wanted to believe that something had to have survived the battle. And maybe that was just foolish, naive hope, but you pulled up to the Compound in Sam's car with a heart full of hope.

It was stupid in the grand scheme of things. You knew it was. It still didn’t make it hurt any less.

The place you called home.

The magnificent and awe-inspiring Avengers Compound. Reduced to rubble.

Still, you stumbled through the ash, debris, and searched with a bright smile and your head held high.

Most was unidentifiable. But from what you could identify, you were able to find your old room. And it hurts even more.

The room painstakingly decorated with Nat and Wanda. Days the three of you spent laughing, teasing each other, all reduced to nothing. The bookshelf Steve and Sam helped you find and set up for you. CDs and records you collected from all around New York.

All gone.

Though you felt the stinging sensation of tears building in your eyes, you shook them away as though it could shake away the pain of the last few days. Or years - that would probably be more accurate.

You told yourself that it didn't matter that everything you'd ever owned was now gone. It didn't matter that you went from nothing after being rescued to a room full of cherished possessions... back to nothing. All lost in one fell swoop. It didn't matter that you were once again dropped in a society that looked completely unfamiliar.

You were on the outside. Thanos defeated. Sam was alive. Bucky was alive. And maybe your family was no longer intact, but you still had something, a good starting point.

So you and Sam decided to lay low for a few days to collect your bearings.

You didn't know that things were about to go from bad to worse.

“Technically, it’s SHIELD housing, just off the books," Sam tells you, pulling up to a small cabin just a few miles away from the Compound. "But I figure we can lay low while we figure out our next move.”

You take solace in the way Sam speaks about you as a unit. Even though he's no longer responsible for you, he's standing by you. You walk up the steps with a heavy heart that's lightened by the people you still had in your life.

You open the side panel, clearly stating your full name to the little intercom device.

“Access denied," the monotone voice drolls.

“What?”

You shake off the startle, this time carefully speaking your name again.

“Access denied.”

"Maybe Tony put in one of his nicknames?" Sam offers, though you can tell he's grasping at straws.

"Why don't you try?"

"Sam Wilson," Sam pointedly states.

“Access granted.”

You sharply inhale, your shoulders stiffening.

"It's probably just a mistake, the stupid thing's been sitting here for five years untouched," Sam assures you. You half-heartedly nod, giving Sam a tight smile in response. He can't offer any other assurances because he simply doesn't have them. The whole thing is deeply unsettling to him too. "Don't worry, we'll figure it out."

There's no bags to set down as the two of you walk through the door together. Nothing to put away.

The cabin is old, everything covered in a thin layer of dust. You're about to ask Sam what the two of you should do when his eyes linger on a small room off to the side. You take a few steps to meet his eye-line, his eyes have settled on an old SHIELD computer tucked into the corner of the room.

"Sam," you warn.

What you didn't want to tell him, what you already knew, was something Sam would never accept. What he's refusing to accept.

It probably didn't even have anything to do with the Snap or being gone for five years, and had everything to do with forcing you back into submission. And more than anything, you just don't want to be proved right in this moment.

He unlocks the computer anyway. The computer casts a slight glow across the dim room, Sam is clearly nervous as he unlocks the computer with his own code and it's not long before you he's pulling up the old SHIELD database. You wait with bated breath as Sam enters his own name into the SHIELD database. There's no delay or complications as his file fills the screen.

"Just so we know it's working," he quietly explains.

You slowly exhale as he types your name with a painstaking hesitancy. What neither of you say is that you're both already certain you have the answer. All Sam was doing was confirming what you both already knew. He hits the enter button with a sharp jab of his finger.

And all that appears is a small error message: Personnel Not Found.

You sharply inhale.

Now, you’d never claim to be the smartest of the bunch, but you knew in the depths of your bones what this meant: you’d been erased.

And now, you were officially back at square one.

Sam's eyebrows furrow, but he doesn't stop typing, trying dozens of combinations of your name. First name, last name. Last name, first name. Silly aliases that you'd made up while on the run. Typing the ID number SHIELD gave you.

None of it works.

The clicking sounds of Sam's typing become more frantic, more desperate as he refuses to accept what's happening to you.

You place your hand on his shoulder, prompting him to stop his typing. For the second time in one day, tears burn at your eyes. This time you don't keep them from falling.

Now, you were gone. A person who never would be and never was. It was a gut punch you never thought you'd have to feel again. Something you didn't think you'd ever lose again. And most of all, you don't want to do this to Sam again.

You remembered how hard he had to fight the last time, how much hell SHIELD put him through, and even worse was when SHIELD fell and no one knew what to do with you. But through all of that, at least you had yourself. And now they'd taken that from you too.

You decide in that moment that you can't put him through this again.

You squeeze his shoulder once. A silent apology to him for whatever comes next. "It's fine, Sam."

"No, it's not fine-"

You drop your hand from his shoulder. A melancholy settles over the room as you both come to the crushing conclusion that things really would never be the same. "Just leave it, Sam."

"But-"

"We'll figure out where we go from here tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he agrees with a sharp nod.

You were the one that made sure tomorrow never came.

"I'm telling you, I'm going to do it," you promise, laughing as the two of you sit on his sister's porch.

"But why?" Sam laughs, standing up in a huff to re-activate the motion lights.

Even though he knows he shouldn't be encouraging you, there's a pretty big part of him that thinks it's absolutely hilarious too. People just wouldn't stop with the questions about Steve Rogers. They wouldn't accept what was without some grand tale or some dramatic retelling. And as people who both knew Steve, it was emotionally draining.

"Why not?" you counter. "Maybe they'll finally leave us alone about it. Think about it: Steve Rogers is really living underground, protecting us from the mole people."

"Mole people?" Sam sputters out laughing as the timed light turns off again.

"Or- Or!" you bounce up off the stairs with unbridled excitement. "We could tell people he's on the Moon!"

The lights turn back on, but you still remain standing with your drink sloshing around in your hand. He tries to maintain his voice of a reason tone, but he finds himself smiling at his friend dramatically gesturing as you tell him all about the intricate stories you'll make up about Steve. "Who would believe that?"

"Who wouldn't? An alien literally wiped out half the planet five years ago. And then we just show back up!" you exclaim, half your drink spilling onto the grass as you wave your arms around, gesturing to the world around you. "The world's a crazy place!"

"The Moon," Sam repeats, rolling his eyes with another laugh.

"Sam? You busy?" you meekly ask, shuffling into the kitchen.

"Mhh..." he hums, rummaging through one of the kitchen cabinets. "Just looking for this old family recipe. My mom made the best Christmas cookies, and I know she had the recipe around here somewhere. What's up?"

You dismissively wave your hand. "No, you're busy. We can talk later."

"No, no, it's fine. Come on, what's going on?"

"I think..." You have to stop to swallow the lump in your throat, mustering all your courage and nerve to say the words that you know will irrevocably change your friendship with Sam. But it's for the best, you tell yourself, Sam will be better off. "I think I have to go."

"I already told you, we can go Christmas shopping later. It's not a big deal, tons of people do their shopping last minute. No one can tell the difference."

"No, Sam," you object, this time a little more forcefully insistent. Simply at your tone, his head jolts upward, the smile falling from his face morphing into a concerned and confused expression. "I think I need to leave."

"Leave?" he echoes. "Leave where?"

"I need answers, Sam. Real answers."

"Well, hold on a minute, I'll go with you! We can go right after the holidays. The both of us-"

"No, no," you interrupt him. "Don't do that. Sarah, AJ, and Cass, you can't just leave them. You just came back."

"We both just came back," he corrects. "But you were so excited about the holidays, and now you want to take off? I don't- I don't get it. Why the sudden change of heart?"

"Sam, I just - I have to do this. Besides, I already talked to Joaquin, and he's not going home for the holidays this year, so he said he'd help me."

His back straightens, no longer leaning against the counter. Logically, he knew the sense of betrayal lodged in his throat was irrational. After all, you were talking to him about it. But it hurts, it stings, knowing that you went to someone else for help instead of him. It aches that you've suddenly decided to leave without him, to leave him entirely. This throat tightens from the emotional whiplash and the faint ache of what feels like a betrayal. "You talked to Torres before you talked to me?"

"Yeah," you exhale, your eyes downcast. "I did."

That night was a quiet one. The Christmas music that previously filled the house was more faint, the twinkling lights more dim.

You left your bedroom door open as you carefully folded each of the few articles of clothing you still owned. The open door taunted Sam, partly a silent plea for him to talk to you, partly a painful reminder of the friend he was about to lose if he didn't give you your space.

The quiet bled into the drive to the airport the very next day. For the first time in your entire friendship, neither of you knew what to say. The silence felt suffocating, crushing.

A breath remained in the back of his throat, ready to voice unspoken words at a moment's notice.

From the driver's seat, he could see the furrow in your eyebrows, the tension you carried in your shoulders, telling him you had your own unspoken words that you desperately wanted to voice.

Neither of you did.

It was only when he drove up to the terminal that the heaviness subsided enough to sustain spoken words.

"Promise me you'll be careful. Recon only. You know-" he starts, feeling the desperate urge to remind you what dangers lurk around the corner.

The worries echoing in his head are almost enough to get him to ask you to stay. He doesn't.

"I know, I know. I promise I'll be careful."

He wants to offer to go with you, to tell you that you don't have to do this alone. Instead, he pulls your duffle bag from the trunk of his car. He extends it out to you, but pulls it out of your reach to give him the chance to issue another promise, "And you'll call me? Keep me posted?"

"I'll call," you repeat, carefully avoiding the word 'promise'.

His throat starts tightening, the goodbye hitting him like a ton of bricks. "If you need anything, anything..."

You weakly smile to keep your bottom lip from quivering, "I know."

He throws his arms around you. You allow your small duffle bag to hit the floor as you wrap your arms around him, "I'm going to miss you."

"Miss you too," you mumble into his shoulder.

The Twin Flame Chapter List The Grumpy x Sunshine Universe Bucky Barnes Masterlist

And finally, dear readers, this story comes to a close. Thank you guys so much, I love you all. 💛

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