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The Divine Creator
Part 1 part 2
Everyone knew who their creator was. Ethan, the divine creator of Teyvat, the one who even Celestia prayed to and so did the seven archons. There was no beast, no animal, no human, no god, no being that didn’t hold him in the highest pedestal of all.
They celebrated in his name, killed in his name, fought on his name, drank on his name, and died on his name. He was the poet, the knight, and the king, he was all, is all.
From the warm summers of Liyue, to the cold winters of Snezhnaya. Their grace was praised.
The joy they all felt when the golden vessel came was unimaginable, joy that turned to jealousy. That vessel whose name was Aether wasn’t worthy of you, what could you see in this outsider? Was what every being wondered. Yet no one dared go against their divine god.
They knew you were watching them through those golden eyes, analyzing every movement and going through all the nations. Barbatos was ashamed of himself, he was unable to give you a proper welcome. Morax tried to stop his contract, he wanted to greet you personally, give you a tour and show you how well they were doing in comparison of Mindstadt. He couldn’t. He cursed himself for this, he should’ve waited more, he should’ve went after the Tsaritsa.
Ei was clueless and ashamed of her actions, how could she do this to you? She wanted to drop to her knees and beg for forgiveness but she couldn’t. Nahida was embarrassed, which is why she tried to be as helpful as she could. Furina and Neuvillette were both surprised and relieved at the same time, their nation wasn’t the worse one, surely you could understand that Celestia could be… difficult.
Aether took advantage of his title as the divine creator’s vessel to find his sister. He knew who you were, you were praised all throughout the stars and worlds yet he didn’t say a word to the archons. He quickly noticed that unlike his homeland, Teyvat was still a relatively young world. He marveled at the idea of being one of the first to know of your most recent work as the order still hadn’t added Teyvat into the system.
He forgot his sister for a moment.
He knew more of you than the others did. His mother had told him and his sister all about you in tales. While not much was known of your first life, they knew a lot of your second life, when you were introduced as (Name) of house Talix almost 6 billion years ago. The union between the goddess of knowledge and peace Bella and the god of life and nature. From that union was born a boy who held resemblance to the one who created life, Ethan.
He was told of how you overcame corruption and freed them all from the cruel world they built in your absence. How kind you were to go as far as reincarnating, breaking the rules you yourself had made, all to save them. They recognized their wrongdoings, they tainted the paradise you had built for them, it was only right for them to make it up for you. Aether was a bit… ashamed that Teyvat, a world that was still far too young and didn’t know all that history, acted do loyal since the start and followed your law.
Something this own homeland didn’t do… they had to see you be born again and suffer to free them for them to finally praise you as you deserved. They made you lose your life a second time.
Ethan, your grace, father, divine grace, your highness, prince, (Name)… who were you anymore? You didn’t know. From the start, you didn’t know. You were what everything else was, a mere atom floating around, well… many atoms that united like sticky balls to evolve. How long were you alone? Far enough to learn how to make others like you. You didn’t want worshippers or servants, you just wanted company. But of course, your wishes were always just dreams. So you kept yourself busy with building and making more life.
Fixing their problems, you learned to tolerate their “gifts” that consisted on human sacrifice. You accepted your deaths and rebirths, as if you hadn’t already tried to completely eliminate yourself from existence. Not like a knife of divine blood to the heart, a curse to your soul, a night of bleeding out or being burned alive could do anything to you.
When you awoke in Teyvat you felt the same way as in those other planets, numb. Yet the smell of a warm meal made the hunger in your human body awake. That was the only thing that encouraged you to rise from the ground.
Ik this is confusing, ik. You’ll see everything as the story goes on, I have no schedule. I’ll pretty much update when I feel like it’s enough so don’t wait for a weekly update. Bye! 😊
#yandere genshin impact#yandere sagau#genshin sagau#aether#God!reader#sagau#genshin cult au#male reader
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SAGAU-related brainrot knocking around my skull lately: Lady Maria!Creator.
Noble, graceful, remorseful, powerful, melancholy, otherworldly Lady Maria. The Creator isn’t a pure and untouched soul, she’s a scarred and battle-hardened warrior, ridden with guilt. Trauma has made her cold, yet paradoxically gentle.
Teyvat makes lumenflowers blossom everywhere to herald Maria!Creator’s arrival. Big ones, small ones, towering ones, blooming after sundown alongside the glaze lilies. Even in extreme temperatures, the cold, pale flowers make themselves at home. Slotting peacefully into the local ecosystems without becoming invasive.
The Pari and the Aranara wake up to find lumenwood groves just outside their respective homes. The Melusines become enamored with these new ‘moon blossoms’ sprouting throughout their village, even the parts that are completely underwater. Amurta students and Fontaine researchers scramble over each other to study this new species. Nilou makes M!C a lumenflower crown, and it replaces her hunter’s cap for the day. Nilou gets the first ever hug from the Creator. Suck it, Azar.
Albedo and Sucrose experiment on these new plants immediately. Xiangling is already using it in some strange new recipe, something Chongyun will actually eat for once. Tighnari, Ganyu, and Shenhe take curious bites out of a lumenflower cutting. The taste isn’t unpleasant, just incomparable to anything else in Teyvat.
Inazuma characters, especially Kazuha, are absolutely fascinated by the Rakuyo (and maybe a little jealous). So graceful is M!C with her strange weapon, so easily she wields it on the battlefield. Every blacksmith in Teyvat hears the words ‘trick weapon’ and takes it as a challenge. Many come close, but none can truly replicate the genuine articles. May they never have a true need for beast-slaying weapons.
Imposter AU? With one of Bloodborne’s toughest bosses? Laughable. RIP anyone stupid enough to try. And if there’s a fake Creator pulling the strings? Not after a quick visceral attack, there isn’t. M!C pulls a blood blade to cut down the imposter’s guards (she notices the stars in her blood that weren’t there before) and the imposter receives the most satisfying visceral ever.
Up to this point M!C put no stock in the ‘god’ thing. All she sees is mad cult, led by a petty and jealous brat on a power trip. But then she sees the stars in her blood, hears the voice of Teyvat itself, puts two and two together and just… laughs hysterically, because this whole situation is patently ridiculous. Byrgenwerth and the Healing Church failed in their quests for ascension, their heinous crimes being all for naught. Now here she is, thrown headfirst into unwanted ‘godhood’ and getting hunted by her supposed worshipers. Oh, how the tables have turned.
Once people see the cosmos reflected in M!C’s blood, they fall over each other trying to apologize. Since she’s reached negative patience for everyone’s bullshit, she ignores them and fucks off to the Nightmare. After coming into Teyvat, M!C gained the power to enter and exit the Nightmare at will. The Nightmare doesn’t bend to her will, but it doesn’t treat her as an intruder. The Silverbeasts and Winter Lanterns don’t bat an eye at her presence. She’s a true denizen of both the waking world and the world of dreams, now.
That night, every soul in Teyvat has the same nightmare - the Celestial gods attempting to forcibly summon the Creator, only to have themselves snatched from Celestia and dragged into a hostile, eldritch world of unfamiliar mish-mashed environments. At every turn, it is full of nightmarish creatures out for their blood. One by one, all but a select portion of Celestials become beast food, with M!C protecting the final ones herself.
Celestia, responsible for planting the fake Creator, falls from the sky the next day, its grand architecture reduced to mere rubble that rains from the heavens. Found amongst these ruins are the mangled, blood-drained and half-eaten bodies of Celestial gods. Spears made of blood impale many of the bodies, spears that seem to have sprouted from inside the flesh. Those that still have intact faces bear identical looks of horror. They find The Sustainer of Heavenly Principles in literal pieces - crushed and torn apart by hands that must have been the size of a grown man.
New stars and constellations appear in the night sky, as the illusion created by Celestia slowly fades. The curse placed on the people of Khaenriah gradually dissipates as well - the hillichurl tribes withdraw from the world, content to leave it alone. Every day, the curse lifts a little more from the people of Khaenriah; one day, Dainslief, Pierro and all the rest will finally be able to die.
In Celestia’s place rises a second moon - a snow-white harvest moon, always full, large and visible even when clouds blanket the sky.
The Archons try to follow M!C into the Nightmare, but like Celestia, they get their shit wrecked by the denizens of the Frontier. The Archons don’t die for real, they’re just permanently cut off from the Nightmare. It takes Nahida, with dream powers of her own + Traveler and Wanderer in tow, to reach M!C and convince her to give the people of Teyvat a second chance. Nahida succeeds because she has the sense to treat M!C as a person, not some untouchable idol.
Sumeru is warm and welcoming, nothing like Yharnam or Cainhurst. M!C has fond memories from her time as a Byrgenwerth scholar, and the Akademiya feels like home. Sumeru becomes M!C’s preferred nation by default, to the pride of the locals and the despair of everyone else.
M!C has trouble wrapping her head around how mundane Teyvat’s supposed ‘gods’ are. Elemental powers or not, these Archons are too human to be divine; the only divinity M!C knows is eldritch, alien, far beyond mortal comprehension. The Traveler is fractionally closer to true godhood than any Archon. But then, just as the Great Ones were beyond human comprehension, so too are humans beyond the understanding of the Great Ones - perhaps it’s better for humans to have human gods.
Speaking of gods, M!C and Nahida bond over their dream-related powers. If this is before the climax of the Sumeru quest line, the Akademiya gets real quiet, especially when M!C publicly points out how asinine their logic is (she was closely associated with Byrgenwerth and Laurence, she knows their kind all too well). For all of his failures, all the disastrous consequences, Vicar Laurence at least had genuinely good intentions; these fools only care about themselves and preserving their own power. Scaramouche, Azar, the traitorous Sages - selfish, ignorant children all, meddling with forces they only pretend to understand. Crushing them herself is merciful compared to the other outcomes.
Through tactical manipulation of dream worlds, M!C busts Nahida out of baby jail long before Traveler and co. have to, and the Akademiya goes into panic mode because the Creator herself is coming for them. Traveler and co.’s plans turn instead to finding the hidden laboratory under Sumeru City - the combined power of dreams horrifically distorts the battlefield around the Shouki no Kami, even after his defeat. M!C doesn’t kill Azar after the fact, but she doesn’t let him go into exile empty-handed... because she cuts off his hands. Cyno is too unsettled to laugh.
Scaramouche resents her for her part in ruining his apotheosis (and because the Creator didn’t do shit for him in his tragically long life) but as the Wanderer, he and M!C bond over a shared disgust for the Second Fatui Harbinger.
And speaking of the Fatui... Well, they try to recruit her to the cause, and she has this to say:
“I’ll not serve your organization while any part of Dottore yet lives. For too many years, I stood by and did nothing while so-called ‘doctors’ brutalized the innocent and vulnerable for their supposed research, their dreams of godhood and divine revelation. Never again. If your leaders possess a shred of self-preservation between themselves, then perish the thought this instant.”
Fatui agent(s): ...
They don’t give up, of course. The less friendly ‘recruiters’ get sent back to Snezhnaya in pieces. The only Fatuus M!C tolerates is Tartaglia, because aside from being the Traveler’s friend, he’s a decent punching bag/sparring partner. She finds his Foul Legacy transformation cute, like a kitten baring its teeth at a lion.
Related idea: M!C meets Dottore’s remaining segment, and after everything she’s heard (let’s say from Collei and Wanderer, maybe Nahida too) she barely lets him get two words in before cutting his head clean off. Will this affect Dottore in the long run? Probably not. Does it make her feel better? Yes, actually. Collei certainly isn’t upset by the news. Wanderer is, only because he feels M!C was too merciful. She lets him dismember the segment so they can stuff it in a box and send it back to the Doctor as a warning.
If a scourge of beasts were to descend on Teyvat, probably because of Dottore M!C would lead the defense. This is not a war that mortals alone can fight, she insists. By her orders, every available god (herself included), adeptus, dragon, and most of the older allogenes are on the front lines, staving off the worst of the horde. Pyro users are in high demand, for the beasts fear them the most. In lieu of blood ministration, the various healers of Teyvat are working ‘round-the-clock. An entirely new crop of Vision-wielding healers spring up, because Teyvat’s top god herself unconsciously wills them into existence. Because M!C would never make use of the Old Blood, not after seeing and experiencing its effects firsthand. The burden of being a capital-H Hunter, the sweet, intoxicating call of blood - M!C remembers Byrgenwerth’s sacred adage, and she has learned from the mistakes of Vicar Laurence. Yharnam was merely the latest in a cycle of destruction, all because of the Old Blood. She will not doom Teyvat to suffer the same fate.
#genshin impact#sagau#genshin sagau#genshin cult au#genshin#genshin impact sagau#sagau impostor au#sagau imposter au#lady maria of the astral clocktower#lady maria bloodborne#bloodborne reader#bloodborne#sentient teyvat#sagau genshin#sagau brainrot#pari#aranara#melusines#god!reader#lady maria reader#crossover#sagau angst
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I need to pour my sahsrau ideas here. So I WAAAAS gonna write a full Wattpad story about this… but I decided FUCK that. So imma write it hear and I’d like to hear what yall think of it.
CW: Cannibalism, Animals as Food, Slavery, Abuse, Cult like topics, violence, Gender Inequality. Etc
——
1. Readers (GODS) backstory.
So before the universe of HSR there was 1 universe that existed. I’m gonna call this Universe 0 (cause it sounds cool) in this universe there was one specific planet called… um… planet Celerian.
The planet is a technologically advanced civilization with it being a haven place — the capital ‘Aetheria’ being where GOD lives—a man who’s worshiped by the people of Celerian.
But there’s another side of the planet — the entire section is called Noxhollow. A crime undercity of the haven city that is Aetheria. Here, survival and crime is noticeable by blind and deaf people.
Here ‘the boy with no name’ is born. The boy is viewed as a mistake, a disgusting disgrace of humanity itself, even among the depraved people of Noxhollow. The boy grows up despising everyone and thing. Why was he hated? Why did he have no name? Even the kids who were born into slavery had names, yet he had none.
Woman were seen as nothing but birthing machines. If the woman gave birth to a girl, she was thrown into a camp forcing them to learn how to cook and clean. If it was a boy, he was either thrown into the gladiator ring for their sick joy to watch the boys fight and kill each other, or they were forced into slavery becoming a human pet to who ever takes the boy.
Where were his parents? Did he even have any? He was forced to live alone, forced to sell himself in anyway to survive, forced to… eat… others and more due to the utterly depraved nature of noxhollow.
The boy gave himself a name. M/n. No one could love him. It was impossible, so he’ll have to love himself, starting by giving himself a name—the first act of love given by a parent of which he had none. Even the woman born to only clean and cook were shown more love then him.
But then, he came across a cat. A black cat who looked staved and on deaths edge. It wouldn’t survive a minute longer without some food. Seeing himself in this cat M/n gave it his food, and walked away not noticing the cats eyes shine at this mercy.
The cat followed him, interested in why someone would show mercy to an animal that was damned by god to be considered food. It watched as this ‘Demon’ showed kindness to those who’d spit on him and beat him down.
It watched as the boy didn’t fight back. Why? What is the reason for his benevolence? Such kindness didn’t exist in Noxhollow. Only Aetheria were those… ‘People’ lived.
Eventually, it made itself known to m/n, offering it apples and other food it would successfully steal to repay his kindness. But he.. denied it… why?!
The cat was determined, it wouldn’t allow this boy to suffer. No. He didn’t deserve it. So, it kept following it, stubbornly ignoring the boys pleas to leave him alone and offering him food.
Eventually, m/n agreed and grew to appreciate the cats presence as the cat would also grow to love the humans presence and m/n would gift the cat with a name: Elio.
The two grew up with each other. Elio managing to sneak past the guards who kept the depraved humans in Noxhollow and stealing books and scrolls from Aetheria, bringing it to m/n.
M/n grew to be a very capable fighter. No longer selling himself for others peoples acts, but making others bow to HIS will. HIS demands. Yet one thing still itched M/N. Love. He never actually felt it.
Despite gaslighting himself into thinking he knew what it was.. he didn’t, love was—IS a foreign concept to him. Despite sleeping with women and men, he still didn’t know what LOVE was.
So, he believed one Two things would lead him to understanding what love was. killing the so called ‘GOD’ in Aetheria. He rallied EVERYONE in Noxhollow, convincing them to rise up and fight the much more pathetic people of Aetheria.. and they LOVED the idea.
The people who once discriminated m/n now viewed him as THEIR GOD. He’s the voice they’ve been waiting for, he’s the motivation they needed. M/n and Elio were disgusted at their change of heart towards him, but they hid their hate, keeping they needed them in order to take on ‘GOD’
So. War began. Noxhollow’s versus the Aetherias. The Noxhollow’s relied on their Peak Superhuman Physicality and the forbidden magic M/n taught them to combat against the Technological Aetherians. Whilst the common folk fought against each other, m/n and Elio snuck to wear ‘GOD’ was.
In her tyrannical throne she sat watching the war below fight. The woman who was ‘GOD’ stared at M/n in disgust. Noting how she should’ve killed him when he was a kid. Reveling his true story—how he was a child of experimentation. Born through…. Depraved means.
They’re were others like him who were born in this project of hers, yet they didn’t survive like he did. She then reveled he only survived because a percentage of HER holy DNA was in him, making her his technical only mother through one percent of DNA.
It changed nothing though. The two still battled and fought. Surprisingly, m/n was managing to beat GOD, his rage and determination grew every millisecond she was in his eye sight. His ambition for her death surpassing her EGO.
After a long battle, and the outright extinction of everything on the planet besides them, m/n won. Before killing her, her last words were one of malice. “you demonic worthless waste of human ORGANS!! A ant like you.. who never knew or will EVER understand love.. beat ME!!? PREPOSTEROUS!!!!! You worthless dog!!! You should’ve died with your—”
Tired of her existence, m/n ripped off her jaw and knocked her unconscious before preforming an act the people of Noxhollow would perform to the losers of a duel. Cannibalism. He ate every part of her, making sure not a scrap of dna was left on the ground.
Gaining her powers he eventually became GOD, a new GOD, one with much more powerful abilities and capabilities then his ‘mother’ he made a new universe, erasing the entirety of his own universe and starting a new one.
Eons upon eons passed with m/n and Elio living in the paradise they deserved. While the people of his new universe worshiped him, any nonbelievers were… swiftly dealt with. M/n made cosmic peace with each visit, stopping any and ALL conflict by any beings, such as humans, animals, and even plants.
However, he STILL couldn’t feel love. He was empty, he couldn’t reciprocate the feelings Elio and his followers gave him. So, he was gonna learn.
One day, he awoke and decided to create more universes to live another live AGAIN without his previous memories or powers. He left Elio with a human form, allowing him to transform into a human and speak in his cat form whilst giving him the ability to see the future. Although Elio begged him to stay, he didn’t, Elio even tried to fight him to stay but it was for nothing.
M/n left, leaving the universe to progress naturally, and eventually go mad without their god. More eons passed. Billions of trillions of years passed until elio’s carefully crafted plan begun. He will bring back his dear old ‘friend’ as m/n told him to before he left. M/n had a script he wished for them to partake in, and Elio would follow it down to its Periods.
The universe itself died down slowly from the chaos when M/n first left, as some of them found themselves being controlled by a warm presence and doing quest whilst the most calm and warm presence wrapped around them.
———
And that’s what I had to rant about. I know it’s kinda all over the place but that’s because I was just pouring the idea I had for self aware-hsr onto this post.
Sorry for the dark topics but I think it made the story more compelling..? Anyway, what do you guys think of this?
#honkai star rail#hsr#self aware honkai star rail#self aware hsr#self aware honkai star rail x male reader#self aware video game#action#drama#sahsrau#self aware hsr idea#male reader#god!reader#god reader#god!male reader#god male reader
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“Gods aren’t called upon, rather, they are made. They are made with blood and tears and the strain of muscles; bones crushed under the feet of the first ‘heretic’ prophet to preach your gospel. Gods are made in battle, in the solace of the night skies, or, in your case at least, in the obsession of one human; your prophet, with you as their muse.”
God!reader x m! or gn!worshipper
How do we feel about this idea, broskis? Is this the vibes? It would most likely have some toxic codependency stuff going on (but in a romantic wayyy), and also some Yandere behaviour directed at reader—
If folks vibe with this I’ll probably drop the actual first post about this concept on the weekend?
#there should be more unwilling but in control reader fics out there imo#god!reader#x gn reader#x gn!reader#sub x reader#yandere x reader#terato#reader x worshipper#teratophillia#god x mortal#god x prophet#x reader#fanfic#not quite smut but close#drabble#writing drabble#not specifically monster fudging but close enough?#writeblr
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If its ok with you how would Apollo being married to a god/goddess who is from another mythology? (And would Zeus approve of the marriage?)
Of course!!
A/n - I’m gonna go with the Egyptian pantheon because it’s my first favorite before Greek, Roman, etc
A/n 2 - request aside, I’m curious to see what you think Arno’s bday headcanons would be 👀
Honestly, I see Zeus as being the most doubtful and unsure of such a marriage
Your power and domains rival his own, which is either intriguing and threatening
Apollo on the other hand loves and adores you!
Anything you have gifted to him is held in sacred regard
He eagerly wants to learn about your home, your life, rituals, everything that he’s adored about you
There are some praises from your pantheon back home but a few doubts as well
His brothers don’t want him to get hurt so naturally they’re protective of Apollo, but they come around to accepting you wholeheartedly
#inbox open#blood of zeus x reader#my writing#blood of zeus#blood of Zeus Apollo#boz apollo#blood of zeus apollo x reader#headcanons#boz#boz Apollo x reader#god!reader
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God!readers cat: finally! I found someone to keep my owner company!he's been alone for so long and now he can form a loving connection with Sto-
God!reader to Stone: Fuck you and everything you stand for you puny mortal!
Stone: Right back at you jackass.
God!readers cat: I-
No because Stone really would call you a jackass to your face. Does he care that you're a god? No.
And that's what infuriates you, besides the fact that your cat keeps going to the mortal realm and taking some of your divine items along with it to see Stone. This huge ass mortal took one look at you and didn't cower at the sight and feel of your power.
Stone just wants to keep your cat, because clearly you're not collaring it and in his mind if it doesn't have a collar, it's not loved. And he wants to love your cat!
#tyler's asks#tyler's inbox#tyler answers asks#answering asks#asks#task force 141 oc#call of duty oc#cod oc#task force 141 oc: stone#call of duty oc: stone#cod oc: stone#cod oc x reader#oc x reader#oc x male reader#male oc x reader#male oc x male reader#stone x reader#stone x male reader#god!reader#:)
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Hii again bro! First of all I really like your scenarios! Second is you can make that reader is a god and genshin men's (reader and them can be in any relationship) found out reader is a God! (I hope you like This scenario and I'm not wery good at English so İf there any mistakes I apologies!)
I love this
give your brain/j
A/N: YESSS AN ASK FINALLY! Ohh this is interesting! Ima do this as non-yandere but if you want some as yandere to ask! if there are any genshin characters that you were hoping for that I didn't do then please tell me and I'll do another part with them! This goes for anyone who reads this btw!
!Y/P=Your Power! !This will be romantic, unless its a minor mentioned!
Childe
He would figure it out by trying to fight someone after being badly injured(like after fighting the traveller for their weekly fight) and you came and saved him using Y/P. He would be so shocked, he's dating a god?! lets be honest he is going to ask to fight you. he is no spending the next hour or 2 asking about what you can do, "Can you use any other powers?" "Yes, Ajax I can." "Can we fight so I can see them?" "No Your not in the right condition currently." "pleaseeeeee" "No Ajax". that's how a lot of your convocations are going while you are helping him heal.
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Zhongli
He was a god, the oldest one as well. I think he would figure it out himself eventually. He would be relatively shocked at the fact when you admit it. He wouldn't make a big deal out of it like Childe would, but he would be interested about when you became a god and how. He would be quite happy he has found someone how can relate to some of the stories he says and/or someone who can understand the reason he retired better. Zhongli would tell you about him being morax (if he hasn't already) if you haven't figured it out by now that is.
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Albedo
He is figuring it out through an experiment, I understand your his S/O but I believe he would do ones on you (they wont be dangerous ofc unless it were yandere then it might be abit) or if an experiment went wrong and you used Y/P to keep him safe. either way he's going to spend a while on questioning and examining you. He would be quite interested in how you became like this, where you born this way or did you ascend to godhood(Scaramouche moment). He wouldn't really fight you like Childe would but he would find ways for you to test Y/P.
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il Dottore
Now this will be interesting. He is intelligent so he would figure this out himself, you better start praying(or running) when he has it pieced together. He wont leave you alone until he curiosity is filled. Now unlike Albedo his experiments will be dangerous but not enough to kill you. I know I said it would be non-yandere but honestly I think he would be similar to one if he isn't one naturally like his love is going to be obsessive either way, he is testing out your power to your limits, he will use manipulation to get you to do what he wants but he is were it gets even more interesting. what if your smart enough (whether that be through age or not) to the point Dottores manipulation doesn't work, he will find a way to keep you contained and force you to use your powers, then he will try and keep you from getting mad at him by holding you close and cooing at you. If that doesn't work like I said before, yandere or not his love is obsessive so he isn't going to let you leave too easily...
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I hope this was good!
Have a good day/night<3
Remember to eat and drink lots<3
Remember you are stunning, wonderful and beautiful<3
Taglist:
@angelofdarknes
Enjoy<3
#🌹Yumi-Writes🌹#genshin impact#yandere#Dottore#dottore x reader#Albedo#Albedo x reader#yandere dottore#zhongli#zhongli x reader#Childe#childe x reader#god!reader
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「 ✦ Surreptitious God ✦ 」
[ Mha x God!Reader ]
↳ The summary is; your a God, the God of balance—the Yin and Yang. You can bring life or death to anything and everything. But when it comes to war...could you really be called the God of balance?
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────
War. The bloodshed is unbearable—left and right, below and above is death. Nothing but destruction in it's path. You'd live for hundreds of years but still couldn't bear the weight of the losses on the battlefield.
During your lifetime, you've experienced countless of battles from the moment quirks were brought into the world. But nothing could prepare you for this..
The destruction around you was nothing like you've ever encountered. Life forms were dimming almost to nothingness as the unraveling wrath spreaded like wildfire.
"How amusing, a God-related quirk user on the ground, their life dependent on the outcome of what I decide. How ironic isn't it? For all of time, everything known to exist were at your mercy. But how the tables have changed." The voice was rasped as his white haired danced from the ashes of destruction. "Y'know, we've been watching you for so long, but guess what? You're not the only powerful being of destruction." He sneered, following with a chuckle which then boomed into a manic laughter.
As the man grabbed your chin, he harshly forced it up before moving it to the side. "Look at all of this..all the blood-shed and destruction..and it wasn't just me who caused it." He chuckled sadistically, "your quirk controls anything destroyed as well can repair, so in contrary, this was your doing as well."
Your eyes gazed around the collapsed and burning buildings, the ashes that flickered throughout the wind—the fires that had spread all around—that dance in the wind almost seeming to taunt you.
As you watched your chin was roughly turned, as your eyes landed on blood-lusting red ones. The kind that can send chills just by a meekly gaze, ones that sadistically taunt you with no remorse.
"So tell me, descender of the God of Balance, how do you feel? Remorse? Guilt? Maybe even fear?" Tomura questioned amusingly before sighing as he shook his head. "No matter, in honesty I don't give a damn. I'm going to end you along with all those revolting 'heroes'."
His face etched a manic grin as he brought his hand closer towards your head.
For most of your life, you've never felt or shown fear..but this, this was different. For the first time, you weren't just scared, you were beyond mortified.
You've grown so close to everyone thats hurting—fighting to protect everything and yet, here you were...a literally fucking God, whose on the ground unable to even stand. How pathetic—a God who sustains unimaginable power at will is at mercy of others, a God who has control over life and death itself can't even help those around them, instead, watch as some succumb to their wounds.
Can you really call yourself a God? Nonetheless the God of balance.
Tears of fury, sorrow and fear all clouded your vision as the on slaughtering background noise diminished to only white as your ears rang. And then it finally dawned onto you,
You were useless..
.
.
"You don't really think that do you?"
You head slowly lifted. Your eyes widened as you no longer the midst of destruction, instead, you laid on bright grass as nature gleamed around you. Water rushed down a small rock formation into a minor lake, glistening. You got up with ease which confused you. Looking down at your body, you noticed you barred no scars.
As you looked around, your memories start fading back as you recalled this plain being a sacred meet up spot.
Your head shot towards a light chuckle, only to be met with the Goddess of nature, Kami.
"Worry not {name}, this plain is a conscious escape." She reassured. Your muscles relaxed as you walked towards her before sitting down at the makeshift-rock table. You sighed as you felt calm as weren't in midst of battle, yet in a place of solace. Though you couldn't help but feel anxious of what was happening in real time.
You were snapped from your state of worry as the Goddess began to speak. "You've done so much and worked quite the ways to get to where you are. Why would you think your useless?" She cocked her head to the side with a light smile.
"I..theres war going on. I'm the one responsible and the one in control of destruction and creation itself, to keep it all in balance, no? If I fail to do my job correctly..who am I to be called a God?" You looked down, fidgeting with a small carving of a star within the rock.
"But you are fulfilling your role. You aren't the God of peace, you are the God of balance. War is one of the factors—the other side of the positives. If destruction doesn't occur, then theres nothing life can contrast to." She informed, reassuring you as well. Getting up, she made her way towards you, a light smile of reassurance and encouragement placed on her lips as she sat down next to you.
"You may not see it yet, but even with your doubts you'll be able to find a way to tip the scale to make it equal. With this war, you'll find life, one way or another. Trust me on this."
You sighed before looking up towards her. "Thank you for this. I know you can't help physically but your words are just as encouraging."
Her smile seemed to brighten, "of coarse." She nodded.
...
You quickly summoned a dagger before quickly stabbing it through Tomura's hand. The man retracted his hand as he staggered back, clutching it in pain as the dagger dispersed. You were thankful time in the plain turned to be nothing int he overworld.
"You bitch!" He hissed, but as he looked up, you were gone. As your blade was about to strike down to his neck, he quickly countered it, grabbing ahold of it as it crumbled to dust.
...
A/N:
[Hi! Soooo as you can see this is clearly unfinished and quite sloppy towards the end. And thats because it is unfinished. Honestly might go back to this later but in the meantime I don't have a clue how to finish this off. I cannot write fighting scenes for my life without it sounding horrid. If you have any ideas on how this should end, please comment it and if I can use it, i'll tag you along with credits! ^^ Also rq, about shigi referring to her as a 'descender of the God ___' and her being a God isn't a writing error. Anyways, yea, use your imagination to however you'd like the ending to be.]
(I haven't watched or read the war-arc yet so I have no clue of Shigi's fighting style.)
......
[ Masterlist ]
#mha#mha x reader#goddess#god!reader#x reader#reader insert#gender neutral reader#my hero academia#bnha#boku no hero academia#mha imagines#mha scenarios#god reader#oneshot#scenerios#shigaraki tomura#tomura shigiraki x reader#tomura shiragaki
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Teyvat's God
Creator!Reader x Genshin Impact
Summary: The creator descends down to Teyvat once again. Will there be chaos or peace?
-> Sagau AU -> Wordcount: 0.76k~
Masterlist
A long, long time ago, there was a god. The creator, to be exact. Oldest being to ever exist. Much older than even Celestia.
Said creator did what they did best. Create. And so originated Teyvat and everything within. Not many have had the honor of seeing the creator since they were very, very tired after using so much power and energy, they fell asleep and left Celestia in their power.
And time went on and on and on. Creations were still intact. Celestia made sure the world knew about you, their creator. Statues were built, as well as temples. Offerings were given to you each day and people prayed to you each passing second.
At first, humans only prayed to you and only you. They saw you as their saviour, their hero. But faith can crumble, and it did.
You were gone for more than 5 thousand years, not even leaving a message every now and then to ensure you are still there, listening to their prayers and their problems.
Now they pray to other gods. Mostly Archons. They were here, they listened and protected their own people, unlike you.
Where were you?
No one knew, not even Celestia.
But oh dear, when you showed up, chaos was brought upon Teyvat.
You crunched your eyebrows. The light was blending you too much for your comfort.
Wait.
The light was blinding you! Is that the sun?
You suddenly opened your eyes. Not believing what you saw. You were finally here! After so many years you got your well-deserved rest and created a body to descend down to Teyvat once again.
How you have missed feeling the soft grass under your feet, the wind breezing towards you, the cold water leaving shivers on your body and the sun warming you up.
You sigh, close your eyes and relax. It's been so, so long. Sure no one's gonna miss you for a few additional hours.
Walking around Teyvat has been so much fun! So many new things to explore, new animal species you were sure you didn't create. Such as... cats...? You couldn't remember the name, but it didn't matter to you! You were finally happy. They made you happy!
And wait until you find civilization!
It was fun, really fun. You were astonished by the structures these so-called humans build. Back in the old days, they were called mortals. Blinded by the beauty of Mondstadt, as they called it, you didn't seem to notice the person in front of you.
So you walked right into them. Not fully used to your new body, you fell. You squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for the pain... that never came? Could you even experience pain?
You felt soft, cold hands around your wrist. Your eyes slowly opened. Right in front of you was quite a handsome man. Short blue hair covering his black eyepatch. A blue top with white sleeves covering his arms. You can't help but notice a blue glowing ball hanging at his hips. What's that? Before you could even apologize for your clumsiness, he spoke first.
"My, my. What do we have here?" His voice was deep, yet soft. His accent wasn't something you were used to.
Do people still speak the original language? Or do they only know English?
"I'm sorry, sir. I must have been blended by the beauty of this city." You smiled at him. Your voice traced with grace. It wouldn't surprise him if you were hidden royalty.
For a moment he couldn't process what you said. You radiated grace, importance and power. Not even speaking of your breathtaking beauty. Those eyes, sparkling at every new thing you encountered (which was like everything). Your lips form a smile at each passing citizen.
"No worries, I take it you're new to Mondstadt?" He smoothly responded, hiding the fact he was flustered.
Your eyes lit up. He swore it was the most beautiful he'd ever seen.
"Yes, I certainly am! The architecture is so different compared to the other cities I've visited." Others might say you lied, never seeing other lands such as Liyue. Others might deny it saying you saw cities from 5 thousand years ago and others just don't give a fuck.
"You don't mind me giving you a tour, right? And I'm Kaeya by the way." Kaeya. What a fascinating name. One you've never heard of.
"Kaeya. What a beautiful name. Of course, I don't mind a tour! I'm [Name]. It's a pleasure to meet you!"
Part 2 (coming soon)
#genshin impact#genshin#creator#kaeya alberich#You#genshin impact x reader#god!reader#sagau#self aware genshin#reader#celestia
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A Letter From Flirty God!Reader
To the Ones Who Made Me Smile,
“Oh, goodness me! I'm just all aflutter with the way you folks have taken a shine to me. It's got me blushing from ear to ear! Your interest in having more of my company is like a sweet melody in my ear, and I can't help but feel downright flattered.
Now, I've got a teensy-weensy bit of news for those charming souls who were hoping for a God!Reader x Y/N story from Revonie. I'm afraid that's not in her creative toolkit, so I'll have to extend my apologies. But wait, before you get all down in the dumps, worry not, my dear admirers! I've been having some chats with Revonie, and together, we hatched a plan that's bound to set your hearts aflutter. We're cooking up a special event where you can reach out to me with your questions, your thoughts, and your desires. It's like a date with a dash of mystery, and I simply can't contain my excitement.
Oh, the thrill of getting to know you better has me counting down the days! Picture it: me, waiting with bated breath, eager to hear from you, my sweet darlings. I'll be right here, just a message away, longing for the moment we can share our thoughts and maybe a little flirtation too. Until then, my dears, know that my heart is yours, and I'll be eagerly waiting for your messages, my loves.
And if you were a fruit, you'd be a fine apple of my eye, leaving me craving for just one more bite.”
With All My Love,
Flirty God!Reader
Rules:
• Begin each message or interaction with the phrase “Flirty God!Reader Interaction Event Ask”.
• Maintain a consistently respectful and courteous tone in all interactions within this event.
• Please ensure that all content, interactions, and contributions are in alignment with the "Flirty God!Reader" theme.
• Please keep in mind that not all asks or messages can be entertained and answered immediately.
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‘Eternity with you becomes enjoyable’
AUs: sentient Genshin SAGAU, religion-having beloved isekaied Teyvat god!Reader
Pronouns: gender neutral, ‘you’ used throughout everything.
Cw/Tw: none, mentions of starts and ends of life cycles
Genre: fluffy
Characters: all Archons, npc kid, npc Teyvatians
You never age.
It’s been millennia since you landed in Teyvat. You’ve grown your following; you’ve given life, you’ve taken lives. Your companions have changed, aged, and your handmaidens have been passing their mantle unto their heirs.
Yet you look the same as you’ve first arrived, aside from the slight weariness and matured composure. The firm, clear light in your eyes stayed the same; your skin untouched by Teyvat’s time; your strength undiminished.
And when Ami, the Child of Fruits asked you for the first time, you couldn’t bear to explain to her bright curious eyes — that you’ll witness their black hair turn into white, then into dust; infinitely until you erode into nothingness.
Maybe you try to keep your distance. Maybe you try keeping your hopes up and enjoying lives as it comes. Eventually, you’ll come to take solace in the feeling that;
The spirits of Teyvat and the wishes of its people will always shine through;
like the Naganohara’s shimmering summer fireworks;
Joyous, eternal in its glory, extending warmth far past lifespans.
And as long as Baal lives, her offer stands. You’re much welcomed to nestle yourself on her, hands held and heads buried in each other’s necks, hair braided gently like in the Tsaritsa’s rare sleepovers.
Eternity is bearable through the warmth of companionship — you continue to treasure time spent in Morax’s cosy osmanthus drinks, Barbatos’s sweet apple-scented songs, flower-tending chats with Buer, lazy debates with Focalor, and Murata’s laughter-filled sparring.
#genshin impact#bamboo headcanons#genshin impact imagines#genshin headcanons#sagau#genshin#cw life and death#genshin sagau#sagau x reader#sagau religion au#god!reader#genshin impact x reader#self aware genshin impact#self aware genshin#sentient genshin#sentient genshin impact#wholesome#wholesome genshin#genshin fluff#genshin impact fluff#genshin archons#genshin impact archons#genshin baal#genshin raiden ei#genshin Baal mentions#genshin Tsaritsa mentions#genshin Morax mentions#genshin Barbatos mentions#genshin Buer mentions#genshin Focalors mentions
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The Divine Creator
Part 2
You stood up from the floor with shaky legs, your joints clicking back together, the consequences of not using a physical form in many millennials. Your back ached worse that than that of phone-addicts or students. Leaning against the massive oak tree for support while gathering your strength was the best option for now, the sharp sense of your nose addictively ignoring every other smell that wasn’t one of food while your stomach rumbled.
Staying here for 2 days straight without moving an inch had terrible consequences. Light work though. After a moment or 2 of trying to re-learn how to walk, you confidently took a step. Winderise, a beautiful sight for your eyes, the giant oak tree that had served as your shield from the sun these past 2 days could no longer protect its creator from the rays of sun as this one headed to that sweet smell.
It took you probably around an hour to reach Mondstadt, walking slow was best right now, you took in the view of what Barbatos had made of the land and to be honest, it was cozy. It looked better than through someone else’s eyes, you wondered. Had Aether noticed your lack of presence? Probably.
All those thoughts were pushed to the back of your mind as you went through the walls and into the city, doing your best to keep the winds controlled and hide your presence from a certain drunky. A god could never be so drunk to ignore its creator, you’ve figured that out 4 life’s ago, the things you created to keep planets with guardians while you drowned in wars and tears. Putting aside your own depression you managed to get to the food part.
Ordering a juicy steak from Sara and paying with freshly made Mora, you went to take a seat in the nearby tables. As you ate you took a moment to think, what would be your name? If you said (Name) everyone would freak out because that’s what Teyvat called you and had reserved strictly yours on this planet. If you used Ethan, Aether and Celestia would know it’s you.
So you’d go with the trusty one, Sir or Mr. “Great idea (Name), you’re such a genius.” You thought while eating. Damn, this was good. Maybe too good. Why instead of giving you corpses they don’t give you this delicacy? Of course they wouldn’t, all they know how to give is corpses and war. As if a god that creates those lives would like to see death for such pathetic reasons.
As you finished your meal, leaving your stomach content you stood up and left. Had your mood been better you would’ve looked around Mondstadt but honestly, fuck that. All your body wanted now is to drop somewhere and close your eyes till you had enough energy to behave like how you’re known for. The energy to be present and living was not in the room, it rarely was nowadays. Your creativity was slowly vanishing too, thinking of new worlds, stories and ideas made your head hurt too nowadays.
Maybe this was the result of squeezing everything out of your mind and powers for millions of years without a rest.
As you walked to a nearby temple you failed to notice your acolytes pleas for your return or how whole Mondstadt looked rather depressing.
Saying that people were alarmed would be an understatement, they were horrified. 5 days had passed since their creator last used a vessel, they normally didn’t take this long. As tired as they may be, they had always AT LEAST done their daily tasks, or stored the resin. It was only natural for Aether and the main acolyte to enter an internal panic mode when their grace didn’t. Wanderer had managed to mask it with his behavior while Aether had done what he always did, stay quiet.
Honestly Aether was expecting it, in all the stories Ethan had always been described as unpredictable. It wasn’t surprising for him to be uninvolved with history for decades if he pleased or just because he randomly disappeared. That made his presence even more wished for. Yet for HIM to be experiencing it was TERRIFYING. He was losing his shit! And to make it worst Mr. Emo here was making crazy conclusions. Both their asses were sweating when the creator’s main shield, Zhongli, asked why they hadn’t been called yet.
With steel and possibly, non-existent, balls Wanderer had basically told him to fuck of, “Aren’t you just irritating? Do you think you’re worthy enough to demand his grace’s presence? He’ll see your pesky face when he wishes to.” Aether could only nod, the wanderer had taken advantage of those privileges he held from being the most used acolyte once again and no one could do anything about it. So the retired god had to suck it up and leave, unaware of how that the favored one himself was also bombarding (Name)’s temple’s in pleas for him to appear.
(Name) was a caring god, a quiet yet attentive god. Yet as caring as he was, Wanderer had noticed his lack of actual emotions. Sure, he told all the acolytes compliments and encouraged them when controlling them, but something was always off about him all along. He sometimes failed to feel surprised by their actions, the many gifts and offerings they received never took any reaction of him. Not pity, happiness or anything really, it was like he was practically dead. Yet as soon as it involved violence he reacted, and it wasn’t a good reaction.
But in was a reaction nonetheless. That’s why the sacrifices started, it was the only way their creator showed worry and just anything. It wasn’t odd for acolytes to have some scars here and there from their weekly offerings. Wanderer had been one of the few to notice the terror in their graces eyes when this one saw a cup of blood on what he called his “mail”. After that he could see whatever joy the creator had faded as soon as the offering came, so now he wondered. Was that why their grace had abandoned them?
Aether told him it couldn’t be that and to stop making crazy claims.
They failed to notice the star that fell from the sky during those moments. The same stars that fell when an acolyte was invoked.
#yandere sagau#yandere genshin impact#genshin sagau#genshin impact sagau#god!reader#male reader#yandere x reader#yandere genshin x reader#genshin cult au
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The favorites p.1
Yandere! Teyvat x gn god!reader
Warnings: yandere themes, reader is a bit oblivious, reader is designs as a hobby but graduated with a law degree at earth, swearing, slight violence if you squint, Aether loves feeding reader food (blame paimon), jealousy, paimon loves annoying reader, mentions off Cyno, Tignari in that TCG trailer thingy in which they play TGC with Kaveh and Alhaithem but aether is added, Cyno and tignari feel a little jealous, reader has some in-game items on her.
Summary:
God!Reader who's favorite characters are Kaveh, Traveler!Aether and Alhaithem. And when they meet them they immediately bless them without realizing. Causing quite the uproar within the whole of teyvat. After all, they didn't reveal themselves to the archons at all.
Reader loved the game 'Genshin impact' since their friends introduced it to them. So when they fell into Teyvat while awakening under the tree at windrise, they were glad to find out it wasn't an imposter au, and the fact that they had some in-game items?! Phew, they won't die.
But before they reveal the fact that they have gold blood, they want to visit SUMERU! And luckily the waypoints still work :D!
Reader decided to walk into the city, teleporting not too far away, but they had to check how far it was into the archon quest! So better be safe then sorry.
"It's so pretty." Reader clapped their hands as they squealed. "Nahida has such a pretty region, well, hoyo does own Nahida some apologies for their traumatic background for her." They thought with a sinister smile, Nahida is Reader's child, she deserved better.
"i have a small bit of mora..." Reader mumbled and then smiled. 'Puspa Café, here I come!'
"Aether! Come join us in a game of TCG!" Cyno invited him as he walked into the café. "Sure! Is it alright if Paimon plays with me as a team?"
"yeah! Paimon wants to play too! But i dont have a deck!"
Aether and Paimon joined the table with Kaveh, Alhaithem, Cyno and tighnari, aether suddenly felt a wave of power washing over them.
"Did you feel that?" Aether whispered. "I did." Cyno confirmed. "Hi!" someone greeted them with a bright smile. "Your the traveler, Aether, correct?"
"Yes, I am..." The group was on guard. "May you find your sister and the answers to the questions that lie within your hearth." Reader told Aether while grabbing his hand and gave him a bright smile. Then they turned Kaveh and grabbed his hands, causing him to turn red. "May your buildings make an imprint on the world." Then they turned to Alhaithem. Grabbing his hands as well causing him to tense up. "And may you live a peaceful life while seeking the knowledge you wish to have."
A light started to glow above the three's heads, it was visible everywhere in teyvat. Causing a large uproar.
"I did not expect it to glow like that." Reader mumbled, causing Tighnari's eyes to widen. "Beloved creator, I thank you for gracing us with your-"
Reader started to get swarmed and Aether instictively pulled them closer. "Are you alright?" Paimon asked Reader. "Paimon thinks creator doesn't like crowds."
"Paimon, is correct. But call me reader, my dear."
"Let's eat together, Reader! Paimon wants to share food with my new friend!" Which caused Reader to chuckle. "Let's do so, if that alright with your travelling buddy." This caused Aether to smile, he loved seeing Paimon smile. And the creator gave them a blessing, a blessing that can help him find out the truth.
Alhaithem and Kaveh were trying to keep the crowd calm, Cyno and tighnari standning in front of Aether, trying to make sense of what happened.
"Alhaithem, got blessed by the creator?" Cyno mumbled, causing reader to look at him. "Alhaithem is one of my favorites!" Reader shouted with a smile. Which caused the crowd to murmer. The café's owner however didn't care, the creator was in his café, they are on a cloud nine.
"Just like Kaveh, Aehther, and now Paimon!"
Yeah this caused an even larger uproar.
#yandere#male yandere#soft yandere#yandere blog#yandere genshin x reader#yandere genshin impact#yandere genshin#yandere sagau#genshin sagau#god!reader#yandere traveler#yandere alhaitham#yandere kaveh#genshin x reader#genshin impact#teyvat#cyno#tighnari
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ACCIDENTAL GOD: CHAPTER ONE
Pairing: OT8 Ateez x Reader Fantasy AU
Synopsis: You get summoned into a fantasy world by a group of runaway misfits, (who strangely look like your favorite idols) who claim you to be an ancient forgotten War God, and they need your help to survive while being hunted down by a tyrant King.
Warnings: Heavy Religious themes, member x member, eventual smut, slow burn, gore, death, language, torture, angst, fighting, magic, mentions of past abuse, rituals, blood rituals, some obsessive behavior
Let me know if i missed anything! More warnings will be added as the story goes.
A/N: Finally, here is the first chapter! And don’t worry, reader is introduced in the next chapter! Sorry for any weird formatting, idk how to write lmao. I hope you guys enjoy it!
Please be sure to read the Prologue, it’s short but it’s important!
Masterlist, Prologue, Chapter Two,
Seonghwa’s entire body hurt. He couldn’t seem to remember what happened, where was he? Why did he hurt? Why did he feel like he couldn’t breathe? There was something heavy on his chest, and it wasn’t until he opened his eyes and looked did he realize. There was someone-no, Hongjoon was laying on top of him, seemingly unconscious, he could recognize that ash blond mullet anywhere. Gently, he tried to push Hongjoon off of him and to the side to be able to get up, but slightly winced as his own body protested at the exertion. Once Seonghwa knew Hongjoon wasn’t lying uncomfortably, he sat up on his hands and began to take in their surroundings.
The first thing he noticed was the fact they were in a deep crack in the earth, vines clinging to the steep walls and trees hung over the edges overhead. The next was how dirty and wet he was, along with Hongjoon. Both of their clothes were torn and caked in mud and leaves. Seonghwa tried his best to rack his brain for information on how both him and Hongjoon ended up here, and without any sign of his other clan members nonetheless.
Seonghwa knew He was helping Hongjoon draw a map of the castle grounds to go along with the already drawn areas of the town surrounding the castle earlier, when he heard Mingi’s voice yelling from the woods. He couldn’t see him yet, but knew Mingi was running towards their camp. He was alerting everyone of the guards that were surrounding them and before Seonghwa knew it, Hongjoon was barking orders that they grab what they could and run. Seonghwa helped the captain put away the map and shove it along with some other important documents and books they had into a leather bag, before Hongjoon slung it over his shoulder. The others doing similar things as they prepared to take off. Seonghwa made sure to stuff the dagger he had stolen, his Father’s dagger, into his boot before Hongjoon grabbed his hand and forcibly pulled him along, the rest of the clan members quickly following suit.
He knew they had run into an opening where the king’s guards, who had just arrived at their camp as they were leaving, weren’t covering. But he didn’t know the direction they were headed. The ATEEZ clan hadn’t settled in this forest for very long, a week at most, and hadn’t had a chance to fully explore their surroundings other than right around camp. Basically, none of them had any idea where they were going, and they were fucked.
The guards were hot on their trails as they all ran, Hongjoon was still holding Seonghwa’s hand. Seonghwa didn’t know how long they had run for, but his body was about ready to give out when he noticed Hongjoon lagging behind him. He did his best to tug him along, trying to lose the guards in the dense forest, but as Seonghwa passed through another bush it wasn’t until it was too late to stop did he notice the steep drop right in front of him. As the ground disappeared underneath him, Seonghwa whipped his head around to meet Hongjoon’s fear-filled eyes. Seonghwa knew, as some sort of adrenaline filled fast thinking, that even if he had let go of Hongjoon’s hand he would fall too. So he tugged Hongjoon into his chest with as much force as he could muster and wrapped his arms around him. One around his waist and one on the back of his head to protect it. He didn’t let go as they fell, not until he hit the ground and everything went black. Right, So that’s how they got here. However, Seonghwa still had questions. Where was the rest of the clan? Are they safe? Captured? How do he and Hongjoon get out of here? What do we do next?
A groan from his right snapped Seonghwa from his thoughts, Hongjoon was awake. Sitting up, he looked around and saw Seonghwa before he spoke.
“What happened? I feel awful… Where are we?”
“It seems we are in a ravine somewhere in the forest. We fell as we were running away from the guards that invaded our camp.” Seonghwa spoke as he stood up. The pain from the fall was bearable now, but still throbbing underneath his skin. He held out his hand to help Hongjoon stand.
As Hongjoon wobbily stood, he groaned, his body also aching. He still had questions.
“What about the others? How do we get out of here? How long have we been here, actually?”
Hongjoon shot questions at Seonghwa once again, but these he had no answer to.
“I’m not sure, I woke up not too long before you, and I can’t see the sun from here so I couldn’t tell you the time.”
Seonghwa craned his neck upwards to see the top of the ravine again. The sun was still shining brightly through the trees and vines overhead. It had been early morning when they were attacked, the sun just fully risen over the horizon, so it must’ve been a few hours at least.
“Let's just focus on getting out of here first, Hongjoon. Then we can see if we can find any of the others.”
Seonghwa didn’t want to say ‘Find their bodies’ but he was afraid that was most likely the truth. That, or they are currently being tortured at the castle for information, or simply for the enjoyment of the King. Seonghwa’s stomach turned at the thought. His father- no, the King. That man was no father, maybe not even human. He was a sick man, and Seonghwa resented the fact that they are kin in any way. He shook his head to rid of those thoughts. Stay focused, they are alive, they have to be. You must survive to help them, and you can’t do that stuck where you are.
The both of them began walking towards one end of the ravine, the other close enough to see it was too steep to climb.
“Hongjoon,” Seonghwa called, the man in question humming in response, “ Did you help with the fall?”
“What do you mean?”
“We shouldn’t have survived the drop from that height, did you do something?”
“Ah yes, I did. I remembered I threw up a protective barrier at the last second before we hit the ground. That is most likely the reason we aren’t dead, though the guards from before seem to think we are.”
“What makes you say that?”
“They haven't come to retrieve your body as proof yet.”
Right, of course the king would need proof of the prince's death. It made sense since Seonghwa has quite the bounty on his head, as do the rest of his clan members. Treason (and many other crimes) were written on the wanted posters across the town whenever they had snuck in to steal supplies. It was not a pleasant sight to see, and it was a big reality check for them all as to what they had gotten themselves into.
Seonghwa realized they had made it to the end of the ravine now. It wasn’t very long, surprisingly, as it was a good width. This end they could climb, while the slope was still steep, there were various small trees and rocks they could grapple onto to climb up, and so they did.
No words were exchanged as they climbed, just small grunts and pants escaping their mouths. Once they made it to the top, they stood there for a second to rest. Hongjoon looked at Seonghwa before he spoke up.
“Do you think it’s safe to try and grab anything left from camp?” Seonghwa only shrugged. It was a risk, but one they were going to have to take. They had virtually nothing on them besides the bag of documents still over Hongjoon’s shoulder, the clan wasn’t supposed to split up and in their rush they didn’t grab anything in case they did. Perhaps if one of the other clan members got away, they would have the same idea to head there. It was the only familiar territory any of them knew in these woods.
They began to head towards their camp, following the trail they had sprinted down and passing broken tree limbs and rushed footprints along the way. Yet, no sight of blood, which is both good and bad. It means that their clan members weren't hurt on the trail, but it also means none of the guards were either. Seonghwa hopes that at least some of the others got away. After about 2 hours or so, both Him and Hongjoon came across a small waterfall, leading into a pond. They stopped to rest, refilling the waterskins that hung off of each of their hips, and attempting to wash off some of the dirt still stuck to their skin. A tense silence hung over the both of them. The thought of their clan members, their new family, possibly dead or worse stuck in their minds. Hongjoon had just sat down near the edge of the water as Seonghwa was still cleaning up, when they both heard a ‘snap’.
Both heads whipped impossibly fast towards the noise coming from behind them, on high alert. Two figures began to walk out of the trees towards them, one tall, one shorter. As Seonghwa began to grab his dagger out of his boot, the figure's faces came into view. Air felt like it was sucked out of his lungs, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Hongjoon was the first to move, sprinting towards them.
“San! Wooyoung!”
He crashed into the other two clan members with force, nearly knocking them both down as Hongjoon wrapped them in a bear hug. Seonghwa was quick to follow suit.
“You're alive! You’re- How did you get away? Have you seen any of the others? I’m so glad you are both safe!” Hongjoon rushed out the words, pure relief lacing his tone as he pulled back. Smiles graced everyone’s features.
“You guys are okay! And no, we haven’t seen anyone else. Both me and Wooyoung managed to slip away after we lost sight of you both. I’m not sure if any of the others did so as well.” San seemed on the verge of tears as he spoke, Both happy and worried tears. The healer cares so much for his clan, not knowing what happened to them all was tearing his heart apart.
“What happened to you guys?” Wooyoung piped up now, looking both Hongjoon and Seonghwa up and down, taking in their tattered and dirty attire.
“ We were chased off into a ravine, it was not an easy fall.” Seonghwa finally spoke. They had all pulled away from the group hug but still stayed close, not wanting to be too far from each other now that they were together again. Wooyoung’s mouth parted into an ‘o’ in understanding as San spoke up once more.
“So what do we do now? The other members have most definitely been taken by the guards back to the castle. How are we supposed to get them back? We don’t even know which way to camp is! Night is falling soon as well and I’m sure there are still guards lurking to find the rest of us. We saw them on the way here.” Worry pulled at his features, and all Hongjoon wanted to do was make him smile again, to make everything better again.
He didn’t know what to do, it was near impossible to sneak into the town surrounding the castle without being recognized anymore, forget trying to sneak into the castle. If they ran into anyone they would more than likely lose that fight and end up killed. They needed help from an outside source, but who would help them? Who could they trust? He was silent before Hongjoon spoke again, a frown on his lips.
“We can’t break them out alone, that’s for sure. We need to find someone that can help us, but who? Do any of you know someone? Or have any ideas?” It was silent once more as everyone tried to think. They were desperate.
“What about your magic Joong? Could we do something with that? Summon a minion or something to help us?” Wooyoung threw out the idea, a stupid idea better than none in his mind.
“No, my magic isn’t powerful enough to summon someone to help, and would be no use against the Royal Sorcerers. They have wards up near the castle so no one can use magic around it. Besides, to perform such a powerful ritual like that to summon something would require certain spell books to work, ones we don’t have.” Hongjoon responded. Not even the old spell books and grimoires stored in his magic shop had information on how to do that. Such powerful things were outlawed to the public, only Royalty and those allowed by royalty could access things like that.
“Wait,” A lightbulb seemed to go off above Seonghwa’s head. He turned and rummaged through the bag over Hongjoon’s shoulder before pulling out a large book. It had a dark brown leather cover with red gemstones decorating it, and unknown language written on the front.
“We might be able to do that! This is a grimoire I had stolen out of the library back at the castle before I fled. I meant to give it to Hongjoon but with everything that has happened, it slipped my mind. Here.” Seonghwa handed the book to Hongjoon. The latter excitedly began to flip through it.
“Seonghwa, Do you even know what you grabbed? This book has so many forgotten and outlawed spells and rituals! It’s most likely one of a kind!” Hongjoon plopped down onto the ground where he stood, still flipping through before stopping on a page, Something must've caught his eye. They all looked over Hongjoons shoulder, now crouching around him to get a better look. Different images and graphs lined this page, along with a lot of writing in seemingly the same language on the cover. Hongjoon was quiet now, intensely focusing on this specific page.
“Can you really read all that?” Wooyoung commented, it seems Hongjoon ignored him as he looked up at Seonghwa with an astonished face.
“We can summon a God. A long forgotten and Powerful God. Do you know what this means? We can get the others out! We can be protected!” A look of disbelief coated Hongjoon’s face.
Dumbstruck looks seemed to cross everyone’s faces. A god? Was that even possible? Confused murmurs left the others mouths. Hongjoon looked back down at the book before speaking.
“It’s extremely dangerous, and I’m not even sure it’ll work, but I think it’s our only chance at saving the others. This page details the ritual to summon Omen, a god of war and wrath, among other things but that is what they were most known for.”
This time San spoke up. “Almost no one worships them anymore, right? They’ve almost faded into obscurity. I remember reading a book on them. Are we sure we want them? They could easily kill us the moment we call for them! Are they even real?”
Many gods had shrines and temples mortals would go and worship, praying and leaving offerings in exchange for their wishes. But Omen was a god lesser known, having vanished from text and tongue in the day and age they were living in. Summoning a god was completely unheard of, the all powerful beings didn’t often meddle in mortal affairs, only caring for the land or doing small favors for offerings. They wouldn’t let some measly mortal have any power over them and messing in mortal wars was definitely something they didn’t do either. Why would a War god want to help them?
“It’s our only shot, San. What else can we do? Leave the others to be slowly tortured to death as we continue to run like a bunch of cowards?” Hongjoon’s words were sharp, slicing at the feelings of the others. He didn’t want to be mean, but it was the cold hard truth. They couldn’t keep running like this, and they could never leave their comrades behind. A long, silent beat passed.
“Fine, so we all agree to do this?” Seonghwa looked at San and Wooyoung for confirmation. He had made up his mind, and he knew Hongjoon wouldn’t budge. They had to get the others back, and if that meant doing something so stupid like trying to summon an ancient god, then so be it. Seonghwa was also tired of running and feeling helpless. He saw San and Wooyoung reluctantly nod. Upon seeing their reactions, Hongjoon stood as determined words left his mouth.
“Alright, let’s get to work.”
#ateez#ateez fanfic#fanfic#ateez x reader#x reader#choi san#jung wooyoung#kim hongjoong#choi jongho#park seonghwa#kang yeosang#song mingi#jeong yunho#fantasy#ateez fantasy au#fantasy au#magic!au#god!reader#god au#series
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An incredible piece of writing.
saturn
summary: close to a year after you die, bucky's desperation finally finds an answer. but it may not be the one he's hoping for. (OR) you die. bucky tries to bring you back.
warnings: angst. death. body gore (being revived from death and the processes that follow). sickness. war or something. swearing. there is also fluf here and there
word count: 21k
a/n: im drunk as fuck <3 i haven't really looked at this since December. the title is taken from saturn by sleeping at last because i couldn't think of anything better. enjoy <3333333333333
He occasionally catches a glimpse of his face in the lake.
His skin is worn from months of sun damage, splotchy and incorrectly healed. His beard has grown well past the point of respectability, with strands of grey he didn’t realise could sprout from him. Eyes sunken and half-lidded always.
Bucky waits everyday for the reaper to pull him underwater. Every day is another spent on dry, barren land.
_____________
It was closing in on a year and a half. Time moves like aged honey when you're punished, slow and grasping.
He steps off the bed and into the resolute silence of the cabin. There was a hole by his bedroom door after a regrettable night of alcohol. Mead. Something that had his head spinning and bile stuck to the walls of his throat, and of which he doesn't even remember the name of the next morning.
It's all fleeting, anyway. Names, labels, lives.
He cooks himself breakfast on an old pan. The room is bone-cold, and the floorboards creak when he drags the decades old chair from the dining room to the porch.
Paint peels under his feet, and his toe curls. A dull, faded orchestra of evergreens as far as he can see. He's had a target on his back since he was a kid, always under the gaze of something beyond his understanding. Always making sure he doesn't take a step out of line, or let too much life into his heart.
It's been a while since he's felt that. Like it had finally decided he learnt his lesson, that he wouldn't dare to take a new breath without considering if he deserved it. And so he doesn't wonder if there are irises staring back at him with the same lifelessness with which he watches them, day after day, hour after hour.
The outside cools his blood to a standstill, and he is almost entirely certain he is alone. The vast expanse of an empty sky, bearing no clouds, no birds. Some days, he almost thinks he can feel you when the winds move.
He thinks he's past the point of insane.
__________
His friends are kinder than he is. To a fault, almost. God knows he hasn't given them a reason to be.
After a couple of months of shifting to the middle of nowhere, there are fifteen fucking knocks to the door.
Bucky flings it open, ready to chew someone’s head off. Raging, still in the ratty old t-shirt and sweatpants and socks with holes in them that you swore you would burn. He is armed with a battalion of curses and threats, only for words to die a quick death at the tip of his tongue.
“Hey.”
Bucky's muscles tense to the point where they might crack, but he forces his arm to lower.
“Been a while,” Sam says, arms crossed over his chest.
He doesn't know how he's hunted him down, given the nature of his disappearance, but Sam was nothing if not determined in his humanity.
With nowhere else to turn, Bucky silently pushes the door open.
________
“I like what you’ve done with the place.”
Bucky glances around the house. There are cobwebs hanging from each corner he sees. Bulbs coated with dust. Fine china starting to fade with unuse, and utensils slowly beginning to gather rust.
He doesn’t reply. He’s offered him water, but Sam declines.
“You get cell coverage out here?”
“Don’t make a lotta calls,” Bucky’s vocal chords sound like they’re lined with gravel.
“We noticed.” Sam leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Talked to Dr. Canmore?"
"Yep." Not since the psychiatrist was forced to clear him after Bucky showed no signs of violence, or returning back to him. To him, that concluded the purpose of their relationship.
"And?"
"There's nothing to say, Sam," he rebukes, gruff. "'M fine."
Sam looks like wants to raise an eyebrow, but the patience he's grown over the years from dealing with those worse than the mess setting in front of him disallows him. "Get enough food?"
Bucky flashes him a thumbs-up, and feels the onset of a migraine.
"Sunlight? Water?"
"'M not a fuckin' plan--" he begins harshly, but clears his throat. "You?"
"Doin' alright." Sam shrugs. "Been training a buncha new recruits, getting in touch with new ones. Superheroes are poppin' up all over the place. Got a girl saying she can control squirrels."
Bucky nods absent-mindedly, picking at the hem of his shirt. He thinks you would have found that amusing, considering that you thought Scott Lang's schtick was a bit on-the-nose too.
“Do you want to?”
Bucky sharply shifts back into focus. “What?”
“Help out,” Sam clarifies. “Recruit, train.”
Bucky’s jaw inadvertently tightens. “No,” he says sharply.
"Could be good for you."
""M done with that life."
Sam's eyes reflect a reality that's different, but he still relents, "Okay. Whatever works for you."
Bucky can’t say he retired, exactly. He’d unceremoniously quit and had gone AWOL, but it had never been on paper. SHIELD was gracious enough to accept in whatever form they had, sending him funds every month as an unofficial pension.
“You should drop by sometime. Compound's all re-done."
Bucky shifts in his seat like the chair is too small for him. “‘M not exactly a joy to be around.”
“You’re actin’ like that’s somethin’ new,” he riffs, mouth curling into a smile. “Still.”
Sam's a good man who often lets his instincts lead the way, and if he's insisting on Bucky to return then something must be worth listening to. But his only company's been the thoughts in his head for a while now, and they're no good. What's impure about him surely wraps its tendrils around the world around him, poisoning them.
It's difficult, impossible, even to shake the suspicion growing on him, crawling up his back.
“Alright, well–” Sam pushes himself off the couch “-- just give us a call if there’s anything you need help with.”
Bucky may not have as many words as he used to, but he hasn’t forgotten his manners. He walks Sam to the front, where his truck lay parked, all polished from the last time he saw it.
"You got everything you need?” Sam asks again, and something inside him ignites a spark.
“Yes.”
Sam nods, hand on the hood of the truck, giving him a final look up and down. The few seconds of a leeway fans the spark into a red-hot anger, one that has Bucky's muscles painfully tight.
"Right. See you aro-"
"Why'd you come here?" Bucky interrupts. "To check if I'm losin’ it again? SHIELD couldn't get Dr. Canmore on the line so they send their next bet to tranquilise me?
Sam's eyebrows raise this time, and Bucky thinks he's finally managed to piss off the last person who cares if he's dead or alive, but everything in him is too hot, too scathing to bother.
He wants someone to get it, what it's like to claw at concrete walls with raw fingertips and broken nails. He wants someone to see what it's like, living like they've been injected over and over with needles.
"I know it’s hard, man," Sam replies, gentle like cool water on a burn.
Bucky's hands freeze, because he realises very quickly he wanted someone to hurt.
"Just thought you could use knowin' you had someone there," he continues. "Got flowers too, but I wasn't sure if you'd..."
Something in Bucky deflates, and he wants to cower into a ball. Bury himself so deep underground that he doesn't have to deal with how his ribs feel like they're cracking into splinters all over again.
Sam's already moved towards the passenger side door, and pulled from it a beautiful arrangement of evening primroses and jasmines. Of course Sam remembered.
You would have loved it.
"I don't have anywhere to keep it," Bucky croaks. He's turned the home he bought into a tomb, and he's closed the door to any remainder of life waiting to be lived.
Sam simply hands it to him, and Bucky takes it cautiously like it'll wither in a second. His touch is venomous and his want is a death-sentence, but the flowers stay alive.
"If you ever find a place," Sam says, squeezing his shoulder, "leave something there, too. Might help."
________
He'd add 'liar' to the list of words he's chosen to describe himself, if he said he didn't think about it every second since you died.
The idea initially comes to him like a snake, slithering and winding its way up his shoulder to hiss into his ear. He shudders the first time, jaws clenching, and dismisses it immediately.
But 'sinner' is a word he would use, and so on nights when he's awake too long and when your laugh sounds like a draft in his ear, he entertains the thought.
Indulges in it, grotesquely allows himself to think of an alternate ending, where his presence had not corrupted your fate, and you would have been alive and vibrant and trying out new flavours of gelato from the corner store. Stealing kisses from him, half awake, and dragging him to watch sunrises from the roof.
He thinks of things he'd do differently. Retire a lot faster. Took you to the National Parks like he said he would. Make sure your scent seared itself like a tattoo on all his clothes, because there's nothing on earth that replicated it and he's turned it inside out trying.
When the air is icy and the skin aches where his metal arm meets flesh, he thinks of how you always flicked his shoulder when he passed an off-hand comment under his breath, but muffled a laugh when his insults got more creative.
But soon, it will be closing in on two years since Bucky's last heard you groan at his stupid comments and the lake is just as pristine as the day he bought the cabin. The water glimmers like shards of diamond and there are days he thinks it's too still for even his liking.
"Have you ever been to Asgard?" you ask one night, legs splayed over his thighs.
He looks up from the book he's reading, pencil tucked into his ear. "I have not."
"Not even once?" you ask, distracted from whatever show you had gotten hooked on on TLC. Ever since you'd discovered the channel, you were convinced it was the best way to learn about "his culture". Sometimes he tuned in to learn about updates to "his culture" in the years he was gone.
"Strictly earthbound," he replies.
You nod, eyes drifting back to the TV. He watches you for a few seconds, hand gently squeezing the arm closest to his.
As it always was, your posture was pin-straight. Always ready. Like sitting still wasn't even an option. He used to think it was because you were never truly comfortable around him, until he realises that that was simply a part of you.
Bucky re-adjusts his glasses. He was getting old. His back pained and creaked like an old door hinge more each time.
He didn't think he'd get here. He's growing to love it. Mission reminders and target locations get replaced more and more with reminders that he still has to put the leftovers in the fridge from the date earlier that night, and that your shampoo needed a re-stock.
"Would you want to come with me one day?" you ask suddenly.
He puts the book down, and you turn away from the TV again.
He can always tell when you're thinking. The world buzzes a bit. When you're older than a few galaxies, the universe and you become not so distinct.
"Might be a bit too grand for a fella like me."
"I think you'd like it," you counter, "and you're in a relationship with me. You'd fit in as well as anyone could."
He's still not sure how he's managed to accomplish the second part but you must have liked something about his ragtag sarcasm and social isolating tendencies.
Bucky's growing older each day. You're the closest thing he's seen to eternity. He doesn't think he would fit in, not with his thrift shop t-shirts and unbridled insecurities.
"Do you want me to?" he asks, hesitant.
He's met Thor, and he's heard mostly about Loki through childhood tales and news reports. Thor didn't seem to mind him, but then again, Thor saw the best in everyone.
"I'd like to show you the place I grew up," you reply, playing with his metal fingers. "You showed me yours."
"That's a couple'a streets from here, sweetheart," he reminds playfully. "Not exactly another realm."
The corners of your mouth lift slightly. "But you feel connected to it, don't you? That it is a part of you?"
Bucky intertwines your grins and keeps it there. He's always felt something towards Brooklyn. Something that kept him going when Siberian frost nipped at his skin. Tethered.
But when he'd shown you the place he grew up in, it wasn't the same. Brickwall had been overlaid with plaster and paint. Doors ripped off their hinges, wallpaper a ghastly white instead of the stained floral print his sister and he drew on. It was unease, trepidation.
It didn't feel like his anymore. Probably because Bucky didn't feel like him anymore.
"Yeah," he replies after some thought, even though it's not entirely right.
"I feel that way about Asgard," you continue the thought. "Being here is lovely, and I love learning of all the things your people do, but--"
"It's not the same," he interjects gently. "I get you."
You look at him and smile, and Bucky feels the same gnawing feeling that this is something that's too good, too pure for him.
God of the Night Sky and the Mortal of Blood Stained Hands.
It shouldn't work, but you've already got a drawer in his shelf for your belongings. You've talked about moving to a cabin by the woods if you ever wanted to settle down. You kissed him that morning, and once more on his shoulder, and the last time he's laughed this much in one dinner was the one he had the night before with you.
"Whichever day you're ready," you promise. "I've got a feeling you'll be convinced."
Bucky presses a kiss to your fingers, and you turn back to the TV with a smile.
He watches you for a while. Your fingers continue to play with his. Bucky thinks getting older may just be worth it.
You made a dozen or so trips back to Asgard since the conversation, and he pushed his involvement on each one with the unfailing and ultimately misplaced certainty that he'd have time.
__________
You wouldn't approve of the way he'd kept the cabin. You wouldn't approve of the way he lived. He knows that, but he also knows if you were around then he'd have a reason to actually sow more than vegetables in the land he keeps digging up. He'd make sure of the table cloth that he found stashed away, leave the blinds open more to allow light to reach his room.
He looks at the bouquet of flowers by his feet and thinks that laying it by a boulder would be insignificant.
So for the first time in a long while, he prays the act of creation will bring him some respite and builds.
A little hut, with sticks he finds around the place, and makes it big enough to house Sam's bouquet from the wind and sun. He carves out your name onto the boulder, painstakingly with his pocket knife until each letter was guaranteed to last a century. He adds the year of your birth, and can't find it in himself to add the year you died.
He steps back and exhales. It's a memorial. It's a start.
__________
Bucky spends most of the day digging up dirt, sitting out on the porch and looking for firewood. He’s learnt how to grow his own vegetables, and how to go into town unnoticed for other essentials.
And now he has something to tend to.
It starts with fickle sticks and grows into something sturdier. He brings the memorial stronger wood, and bands to hold it together. He looks for wildflowers and pretty leaves, bunches them together and leaves them under the protection of the small roof.
It's the most he's done in over a year.
Months go from crawling to a standstill when it nears October. Bucky leaves the house less often.Truth is, the sky has never entirely recovered since you were gone. It's never truly dark-- a faint navy blue or even azure in the days leading up to the anniversary.
He's seen people puzzle over it-- call it the newest effects of light pollution or climate change. There is no reasonable answer, but the one that exists is that you left and you took the constellations with you.
Still, evening always comes faster and he can't quite stand being out at that time, when there is a void where he used to feel you the most. Instead he stays asleep for as long as he can. He makes use of the brief time he has to fix himself some food, and bare minimum upkeep.
He gathers the last of the flowers he can see around, some leaves that hadn't entirely been lost and makes his way to the lake.
"Forgive me, sweetheart. Season's changin' and I don't got a lot of options," he says lowly and to the hut that's managed to stay up.
Bucky looks at the sparse flowers in his hands and thinks that he'll make the godforsaken trip into civilisation to get you better ones. Ones you really liked, colourful and dynamic.
For now, he tries tying them together with a blade of grass to make it look less pathetic. It breaks every single time-- he's never been very good at being delicate.
Something around his wrist catches his attention. Some days he forgets it isn't a part of him.
His hair whips rather majestically around his head. He’s used to the sting when it strikes his skin, only reflexively reaching up to tuck it behind his ear.
“Hair tie?”
His eyes snap to yours in surprise. You've never really talked to him before, just brief nods and smiles along the way. Bucky wasn't exactly the patron saint for socialising either. He's always thought something about you was otherworldly. He didn't consider himself significant enough to be going out of your way to talk to either.
“Would you like a hair tie?” you repeat. “It’s rather bad out there.”
“Uh, yeah,” he replies, though he’s never considered that as a solution. “Sure, if you’ve got one.”
“We’ve learnt to carry them around when you fight alongside the likes of Thor and Volstagg.” You smile, reaching into the compartment of your belt. “Long hair looks good. Doesn’t always work that way.”
Bucky gives you a tight smile, feeling slightly embarrassed but a voice in him compels him to accept the kindness you’re offering.
He quickly secures his hair into a lower bun, giving more show to cheeks dusted pink.
“I’ll give it back after the mission,” he promises.
“Don’t.” You pause, giving him a once-over. “It suits you.”
Most days he remembers it's one of the only things he's still got of you. Still, he ties the flowers together with your hair tie-- and they stay this time.
"See you next week," he says, and a wind blows past him. Pathetically, he dares to hope it's a sign from you.
___________
Two sharp knocks on the door, but his eyes are open before the second one. It wasn’t like he was getting much sleep anyway.
When his arm doesn’t keep him up, it’s the ache in the rest of his body to be near you. Trailing kisses up your arm and watching wildfire heat spread through his neck when fingers tip up his chin. Lips trying to catch each other until panting breaths matched.
He flips over to the other side. Both sides of the pillow are drenched with his sweat. Christ, if this was how it was going to be in the days leading up to the anniversary, he can't imagine what would happen the day of.
Someone rapps intently at the door, only picking up pace when Bucky chooses to ignore it. By all means, he’s retired. That alone should entitle him to some fucking peace, but no.
He curses as he drags himself out of bed and pulls on a shirt, shuffling to the door. When he pulls it open, his eyes are probably murderous, but there is no one to catch the daggers. There is a simple brown cardboard box, labelled with his name.
Bucky, with a narrowed gaze, takes a step away from the box and instead heads into the open air. But there is not a soul, even as he stalks around the cabin and really stops to listen.
He comes back to the threshold and eyes the box. Using his foot, he swiftly kicks the lid off it and braces for an impact that doesn’t come.
There are shirts. And a mug. He frowns, kneeling down to shuffle through the contents, only to find bits and pieces of things he just…left behind when he left the compound.
Pictures he never really got framed. Socks with torn toes. Sweatpants. Laptop.
And there’s a tiny box. His chest twists the second he lays eyes on it so much that he thinks he’s been injured.
There’s a ring in there. Not really even an engagement ring, since you were gone before he had a chance.
Just a ring. But it’s enough to make him suddenly feel the weight of the air around him and he’s forced to take a seat right there on the steps. There’s nothing else in there of you, just old mission reports that mention your active involvement. Maybe if the smell of cardboard hadn’t permeated through the fabric of his shirts, he’d have traces of your scent.
Fragmented parts of his life, like snapshots of his history, running through his mind like an old film. It makes him question, for a second, if death was finally catching up to him.
Well, it was late. He’d been kept waiting for years.
_____________
The day itself is grey and sullen. In crackles of electricity, he can almost feel Thor’s state of mind. He tries not to think that in a few years, you’d be gone for longer than he knew you.
He rounds up leaves as orange as mandarins and ties them together with the hairtie. He clears up the last bunch he’d left and takes a seat on the shore of the lake. Cloudless and barren. Chill.
He can sense the end of the battle is near– he sees Sam a lot less overhead, even his gun didn’t require as many re-stocks. His pace slows to match the few that are left around him, and he’s already wondering how he can finish this quicker to get to help with search and rescue.
But Bucky didn’t even have to be told. Mid-punch, something in the air shifts and a deep shiver runs up the curve of his spine.
Before he even straightens up the sky explodes from the early azure of dawn to a blinding white to a blood-curdling crimson. His body reacts faster than he does, because the speed at which his stomach drops is only rivalled by how fast he was sprinting to your last known location.
He yells names through open comms-- yours, Thor's, Sam's-- turning the corner and immediately feeling the full force of a blast shove him onto his back.
With a groan and the force of his left hand, he presses into his ears to stop the excruciating ringing. He feels someone pull him up– blue, red and white kevlar against bruised skin and he’s already pushing away.
“Sam, where–” he blinks furiously, trying to read what word’s Sam’s got on his mouth because his head is still spinning. “She–”
He hears something about Thor and building and searching and forces himself to look at the force of a multistory highrise that’s collapsed into rubble on the street.
Something about impaled and sacrificed and he feels like vomiting violently, shoving Sam aside to stumble through the dust and smoke, teeth clamping down on his heart in his mouth.
Thoughts of you waiting under rocks, choking while fly ash turned your lungs to rock, suffocating. Every second of his incompetence is a second you spend wasting away where he couldn't find you.
It takes hours for Thor to give up searching through the rubble. It takes Bucky days.
It took a few seconds for the sky to turn red. It took weeks to turn from crimson to the ghost of blue it still remains.
God of the Night Sky and A Man Too Slow.
Your body is never found, and Bucky never forgives himself. It takes a whole month to be able to look at the night. Some days he hides his face from the moon, afraid of wrath.
____________
When Bucky gets the call, he isn’t exactly sure how to respond. One, because he didn’t even know you had his number memorised and two, he’s not sure how you’ve allowed yourself to get arrested. But it’s 2am and he’s on his motorcycle, on the way to the police station, still entirely confused about what exactly was going on.
“That’s him.” You point, jumping up from behind the bars.
You look lovely– someone’s gotten you out of the battle armour he usually sees you in, and into something that passes as authentically Earth-like.
He makes a mental comment to tell you, but to still be discreet about it. He's not really sure where the both of you stand these days. You've got him agreeing to braids in his hair like a viking, and sitting next to him during team nights. He's got you reading the entirety of Lord of the Rings and going to museums with him to steal back his belongings. But he's not really sure.
Bucky’s eyebrow twitches at the fact that they’ve got you locked up, but you look entirely unfazed like it’s a new restaurant or escape room you’re checking out. Excited, even.
"Hey,” he says calmly to whoever wants to listen, “what the fuck?”
The grin you give him is sheepish and he already kinda wants to laugh, but he fights back a smile.
“Broke two tables at the bar two blocks down,” the officer replies. “Looks like she was going for a third.”
“I promise, I did not mean to,” you swear to him. “I did not realise your furniture would be so weak.”
Bucky looks at the officer wearily. “Had t’lock her up for that?”
Whatever the officer was expecting, it was not Bucky's lack of respect for the law or private property.
“Well– superpowers– we’re not really sure–” he stammers.
You watch the man curiously, while Bucky's eyes flicker over to you. He knows you could bend the bars of the jail cell and walk right out, so indulging them was clearly a choice.
“I’m an Avenger, I’ll take it from here,” he interrupts, making his way over to you.
“I’m gonna need to see some ID–”
“Google it,” he bites back, before turning to you. “Y’okay?”
“I’m great,” you reply, full of life as if it wasn’t the middle of the fucking night. “It was a lot of fun.”
“How’d you know my number?” He mentions for the guard to unlock the gate, ignoring the swelling in his stupid chest.
“We are friends, are we not?” you ask, a bit confused.
Bucky can't figure out if he's surprised or disappointed- a good mix of both, perhaps. He's glad you consider him a friend, but something in him aches dully. He positively despises it and how often it's been creeping up on him whenever he sees you around the compound. He was a 100 years old, not some lovesick fuckin' teenager.
“Yeah. We are,” he agrees, turning to glare at the officer who was holding up his phone, eyes darting between it and Bucky’s face. “Could y’move faster? It’s late.”
The guy hurriedly unlocks it and you step out, stretching your arms over your head before waving goodbye to the guy and sauntering off. He watches you go for a second before pressing back a small smile.
“The bar-”
“Tell them to get stronger tables,” Bucky calls from over his shoulder, not even waiting for a reaction. “Send the paperwork to the Avengers office, and put the bail on the tab.”
He finds you outside, arms crossed over your chest while you wait for him.
“Thank you.” You give him a smile. “I forgot that it would be late for you.”
“Don’t mention it,” he waves off. “Wild night, huh?”
He had heard that some of the agents who had shifted here recently were checking out the hubs around town, but he had no idea that you’d be with them. It made sense in hindsight. More often than not, you were seeking recommendations and guides on how to learn what it was like here.
“I’ve seen worse.” Your eyes shine, and for a second he thinks that they even glimmer like starlight. “I did not realise breaking tables would be such an issue.”
“Yeah, we tend to be possessive over stuff,” he scratches his neck, almost embarrassed for his kind. “Coulda kept the cops out of it, don’t know why they had to go through all this.”
“I will have them replaced. Ours will not break, they’re made for Asgardian parties after victories in battle.”
He nods slowly and wonders if a crane would be enough to lift the table into the joint. It was nearly 3am, and he was out here with you in front of a police station, and he can't stop his stomach from fluttering. He wants to punch himself.
“Are you hungry?” you ask suddenly.
Bucky’s head tilts. He definitely had dinner….maybe. Half a leftover burrito and an apple.
“I’m starving,” you add. “I saw this place along the way here–”
Not to rub it in, but Bucky Barnes, smooth player and charmer extraordinaire, blanks. He's about sixty years off his game, and sure, he thinks you’re real pretty and that maybe he’s always wanted to know what it’d be like to buy you dinner and maybe hold your hand? If you were good with that? Maybe even–
“Like a date?” he blurts out and immediately wrings his fingers.
You falter and he wishes he was never born. “A date?”
“Like– getting dinner together,” he tries to remedy. “Breakfast. What time is it?”
“Yes, that is what I asked.” Your head cocks to the side to match his in confusion.
“No, like– like different. Not just dinner– yeah, dinner, but more–” Christ alive, he wishes he could run into traffic, but the road was deserted.
You wait for him to explain a little better where he was trying to get at. He can feel his ears burning bright.
He just shuts up instead.
“Dinner-breakfast, but more,” you test slowly.
“...more romantic?” he tries finally, defeated. “A date. Romantic date– I’m tryin' to ask you out here.”
"Oh.”
The world is very still. He thinks he will hand in his resignation tomorrow and disappear.
He had done his part, embarrassed his mother and every internet poll that deemed him the most suave and mysterious Avenger, and could now die in peace.
“A date it is, then. Breakfast-dinner, but more,” you reply.
Oh. He thinks he’s probably going to combust but you lean over to press a small kiss to his cheek, and now he’s sure he’s going to combust.
“Humans think too much,” you say simply.
"Think I'm more of an exception than the norm,” he mumbles.
"Aren't I lucky," you tease, and tap on the helmet. “Don’t suppose you’ve got an extra?”
Bucky’s eyes fly open, and the blankets get kicked off in a frenzy. His chest heaves as he sits up, rubbing furiously at his eyes.
He knew it was going to be bad, but he didn’t think it would be this fucking insidious.
He moves to wipe the sweat from his brow but comes back dry. The air is still cold even though he keeps the window shut, and he turns to it to see a thunderstorm taking place outside.
He watches the drops pelt against the window and trees shake violently for a moment, forcing himself to breathe as he rakes his hand through his hair.
Before it clicks, and his stomach drops.
“Fuck,” he hisses, not even bothering to throw on a jacket before bolting outside.
The path that he’s trodden a thousand times before looks entirely unknown, and had he not been reliant on his muscle memory he would have had no clue where he was heading. Inky blue trees, harsh and sharp, and he's sure he's gotten a few scratches on his face already as he sprints through the forest to the lake.
The boulder is there, the carving of your name remains but the hut of sticks and leaves-- it lays strewn across the land.
And the hair tie. The fucking hair tie.
He crawls miserably on his arms and knees, relying on the light from a clouded moon to guide him through every inch of grass. Eyes burning red, he continues to scour until morning breaks with twilight.
6 years he’s kept it with him. 6 years, and it’s gone with the rain.
He lets out a cry, fist driving into the earth, barely met with any resistance.
God of the Night, and Devil of Misery.
_______
The flowers had dried up and left him to rot with them. The lake was troubled on more days than not. He had a ring that was neither entirely yours, neither entirely his and no more than the traces of your skin in his memory.
So this time when the idea appears to him like a snake, crawling and inching up his back to tell him that he deserves it, you deserve it. It would solve everything.
He is no stronger than Eve. He had fallen from grace a long time ago. He shudders just as he did the first time, but now it felt like more reprieve.
_____________
“James,” it greets, hollow like a windchime.
His voice comes out more gruffer than he expects from months of unuse, “Got a minute?”
The light retreats further into the house, away from him. He watches it fade as it travels, unsure of what to do until it pauses, hovering in one spot.
It waits for him, he realises. He slips the beanie off his head and into his pocket, before hesitantly taking a step into the cabin. The floorboards creak under the weight of him the way his own used to months ago. Now they were well-worn and all the corners that made the most noise were identified and memorised. The house and its resident both stayed silent.
Bucky finds Wanda with her eyes closed, palms pressed into her knees as she sits midair, body levitating like she was held up by a marionette.
The room is lit dimly, the only light enough to see Wanda and he understands that the woman he met years ago and the one in front of him now were not the same. Even without his serum, he has a feeling the hair on his body would be standing up, adrenaline replacing desperation and fingers bound tightly into a fist. But even with his senses on high alert, Bucky finds it hard to find a reason to care.
“You found me.”
They gave him back his laptop. He knew the Avengers had eyes on her– but only because she was allowing them.
“What brings you here?” she asks, eyes still closed.
“I need a favour,” Bucky replies, voice unnaturally strong.
“Most do,” she hums, bones cracking when her head creaks to the side. “What is it that you want, James?”
“Got a feeling you already know,” he replies.
“Humour me.”
Bucky’s eyes burn the more he continues to stare. He feels sweat trickle down his back in a clean line. The room felt like it was closing in on him with every pulse of light, crawling into his skin and scraping up and down his bones until–
“I want to bring her back from the dead.”
Wanda’s eyes stay shut but a sick, twisted sort of smile works at the corner of her mouth. “Who?”
“You know who,” he swallows thickly.
Wanda straightens her head till she is sitting pin straight again, eerily firm as if her spine had been replaced with a rod.
“It has been months. Nature would not have been kind to her.”
“But it’s possible,” he says– asks, really.
“Anything is,” Wanda tuts. “But all that time would have eroded away at her.”
“We never found the body." He hates how his voice quivers for a second. “And she’s not from this Earth. That’s gotta count for something.”
“Depends.”
“Can you do it?”
“I can.”
Bucky feels relief flood into his system, an ecstatic sort of euphoria that has his heart lead–
“But I won't.”
And it goes back to how it was. Cold. Bitter. Was this some sick fucking joke?
“Why?” His voice drops an octave.
“Time will heal you. Getting in the way of that is only harmful to you.”
Real fuckin’ rich coming from you, he wants to scream.
“I tell you this because I know from experience.” It’s almost as if she reads his mind. Probably does. “Bringing someone back from the dead is not what you think it is.”
“I’ll handle it. Whatever it is.”
“Can you?”
Bucky wavers, brows furrowing. “Yes.”
Wanda hums, the same smile from before returning to her face. “Your spirit is admirable. But I’m afraid I can’t grant you this wish.”
Bucky feels white hot inside, and like his world crumbles into a dark heaving mess. “Wanda–”
“It’s for your own good, James.” If he wasn’t so full of rage he’d maybe hear the fondness that hid behind a few of her words.
“How would you know?” he snaps. “Vision wasn’t human–”
Wanda’s eyes snap open. Bucky is forcefully shoved a step back, arm jumping up in front of him in a second. For the first time he notices that the light wasn’t shining on Wanda– it was coming from her. Crimson red and pulsating as fast as the blood raced through her veins.
“You think Vision was the first time I’ve lost someone?” Her voice is cold. “You met him, James. You knew his name.”
Bucky’s grown to carry guilt on his back like Atlas. A little bit more is hardly a burden. “This– it’s going to be different,” he says. “She’s not a mutant, she’s a God, Wanda–”
“So you think you can match up to that by playing one?” Wanda’s voice raises. “You don’t get to pick who stays dead. You don’t get to choose. I didn’t. None of us did.”
“I wasn’t there when she died. If I was, then maybe–”
“That doesn’t mean anything. I cannot give you this favour.”
“Then consider it repayment. Of a debt,” he finally exclaims. “You said it. You owed me one. I’m cashin’ it in.”
Days of starvation just so that the kids could eat. If his handlers knew, they’d make him kill them with his bare hands. He gladly accepts fifteen more broken bones just so that the twins are kept together, and even when he goes back under, the sight of their big eyes, too big for their faces, staring at him haunts him in his nightmare.
“I just want another chance.” Bucky’s stare is strong, voice steady. “I’m tired of praying. I’m sick of it. I’ve been begging my whole life for a second chance at everything. You think I want to be here? That I get to be the one that’s still alive?”
The glow around Wanda looks like it should burn her. All consuming and vicious, like blood splattered on a wall.
“Please,” his voice reduces to the strength of a child. “Just try. That’s all I’m askin’.”
Bucky watches as the light slowly dims to a silhouette, leaving him blinking back the burn on his iris. He loosens his fist, knowing later that his fingernails probably broke through the skin of his palm.
Wanda’s chest rises and falls.
She closes her eyes. “Leave.”
He wordlessly turns on his heel. It was stupid of him to hope, he supposes.
______________
Autumn dies for December to grow, and he starts staying inside more than he already does. Snowfall covers the roof and the treetops. He swaps eggs for soup and makes batches large enough to last the whole day. The ground freezes over, and he looks for ways to keep his self-sustaining system going, but trips to town become more frequent.
Sam visits once more, and brings some more things with him this time. Books, a journal, some old box sets of shows. Bucky nods along to the conversation, asks after his family and when the time comes, rejects another offer to come to spend Christmas at the compound.
He accepts Sam’s flowers with more grace than the last time. The door closes, and he leaves it by the couch.
__________
He attempts to rebuild it. Pulls together some stronger branches and heavier stones. A new memorial lays together half-heartedly. Dejected. A little miserable looking.
He stares at it a little too long before one swoop of his arm cracks it in half and leaves it strewn across the grass.
Bucky doesn't try again.
__________
“Did you come up with the constellations?”
It's a stupid question, but he's always curious about you.
“Hm,” you reply at first. “Not in the sense that you’d think.”
Bucky turns away from looking into the abyss and towards you. His flesh hand continues to trace shapes into your skin as your neck rests on his bicep.
“I didn’t place them in a way that was meant to be drawn,” you reply. “My mother used to tell me when I was a child that the spirits of those I cherished would live on through parts of our creations. For others, it would be through groves of orchards, or rain that corrode caves into mountains.”
Bucky watches the fingers of your free hand dance nimbly, while the other stays tucked between the both of you.
“I was young when I realised that certain lights were brighter when I felt too much for someone. Pain, joy, rage,” you continue, fingertips pointing upwards, “Those stars, satellites– whatever you wanted to call them– they were the ties I had to those I loved. So sometimes, I would move them with me so that every time I looked up, I would see that I had company.”
He tears his eyes away from you and towards where you were gesturing. It’s subtle at first, but then he sees– stars moving faster than they should, darting all around the canvas of the night like runaway splotches.
“Over time, those on earth noticed patterns and called them constellations. I’ve always seen it as my family,” you say, gently dragging a barely lit star from the corner of his eye towards the centre.
“That’s for Thor. Sif.” You take turns to point. “Loki. Fandrall. Hogun. My parents.”
Each seems to glow a little brighter as you call out their name. “There’s one for you, as well.” Your finger drops, finding its way back to comfort on his chest.
Bucky’s eyebrows raise.
“You’ll have to see for yourself which one it is.” You leave a kiss on his jawline, and he instinctively tugs you a bit closer. “It won’t be any fun if I tell you.”
He doesn’t need to ask. There’s one slightly to your left, that’s glowing a little brighter tonight than the rest. His chest swells, and there's a profound sort of speechlessness that engulfs him. He never really knows what to say around you anyway.
“Really fuckin’ love you, you know that?” he mumbles into your the skin of your temples.
“I’ve got a clue or two.” You laugh and along with you, so does the sky.
___________
Bucky eyes fly open, fingers digging deep into the pillow. Not because of the way his brain was choosing to torture him again.
But the fact that the fucking person from before was back at his door, even though it was the middle of the fucking night.
He lets the first three knocks go unanswered but by the fifth one, he’s ready to unleash the force of the shitty month he’s had into whoever was here to drop off the next box of fucking whatever.
He doesn’t even bother pulling on shoes or straightening out his clothes. Hair wild and untamed and fury in his eyes, he marches down the steps of the cabin with a select choice of words for SHIELD and their stupid protocols.
With enough force to pull the door from its hinges, he yanks the door open, eyes ablaze and mouth set in a scowl.
And the earth stops spinning.
The absolute wind gets knocked out of him and he’s scared to even blink because this has happened to him before. It’s happened, and his eyes have closed and it’s left and he can’t afford that again–
He freezes when a hand reaches out to touch his bicep. Because that has never happened before. He’s always woken up before this.
At the threshold of the cabin, he falls to his knees. His joints ache the same way they did in church all that time ago when his fury was masked with tears.
“Oh,” he whispers, kneeling before the essence of a God he thought abandoned him.
“Bucky?” you ask, confused and soft, hand reaching out to cup his cheek before lowering yourself to his height.
Bucky makes somewhere between a strangled noise and a strange laugh, head reeling.
“You’re back.” His hands fall at your waist lightly like he’s afraid to disrupt still water.
“What’s–” your sentence is interrupted when your eyes roll back into your head.
Moments later it goes limp, and his reflexes move faster than he can comprehend as he grabs you, body springing into action when his mind gives up on him.
He lets out a sigh of relief loud enough to be a sob, fervently holding up the dead weight and a rhythm returns to the stillness of the night, one he’d forgotten the sound of. If he was even the slightest bit aware, more than grateful, he would see the signs from then. His vibranium doesn’t warm when it meets the sliver of skin as he bunches up your shirt in his grip. It feels like he’s breathing in Antarctic air, not spring drafts.
“Thank you,” he whispers against your shoulder to whoever is listening. “Fuck– God, thank you.”
_______
"It's been a month."
"A week, and that's pushing it."
"You're pushing it," you mumble, tightening the straps of your armour, "I do not know how you live like this. Do you always just stare at the ceiling when you're bored?"
"Sometimes I like to switch it up. Look at the floor," Bucky adds gruffly, to a roll of your eyes. "Maybe the door on the days I'm feelin' real fancy."
"You will just let your TV lay that way? With half the screen missing?"
He shrugs half-heartedly. "Sports season's done. Got nothin' to watch."
"Hmm," you pause a second. "'No' to your offer then. You may take that as my formal reply."
"'No' to Thai takeout later?" Bucky squints out into the twilight through the window of the ammunition room. "Lebanese then?"
You raise your eyebrows, tightening the leather around your wrists. "Goodbye, Barnes."
"Bye," he replies, checking to see if his knives sat securely in his old tactical pants.
You send him a nod before you start striding towards the door. The jet had landed a while ago, still onloading agents and recruits from the compound.
Bucky's arm jets out to grab your elbow, pulling you back into him. He's well aware it's only because you let him.
"I'm kiddin'," Bucky laughs at the matching smile on your face. "I'll get it fixed. I'll fix it myself. Just marry me, please. I'm growin' old here, sweetheart. All this questioning's not good for my heart."
"You're already old. And we will talk about it when we get back," your fingers press gently into his chest, and he can feel your touch even through the bulletproof vest. "Your laws-"
"There's no law out there that says ex-enemies of the state and Gods can't marry. Even if there is, it'll be just another one I have to break."
Your eyes twinkle when you laugh. Bucky sees remnants of old cosmos in there, as he always has.
"We'll talk about it when we get back," you promise. "Be safe."
"Can't guarantee that."
"Try not to die, then."
"Always."
He can't remember a time when he wasn't the last one on the jet, owing to goodbyes like this. You never opted to join them, reaching the same way Thor does.
The night was uncharacteristically calm, especially since he knew that miles away you were about to step into another battle. But it's good. The night means you will be at your strongest, and that is what he hopes for.
Bucky allows a few seconds of silence to take you in, skin glowing even against harsh fluorescent lighting and a cool air of confidence around you. You raise an eyebrow at him, because this is far from the first time he has done this. He would never divulge why.
He takes a chance to press a quick kiss to your lips, humming. "I'll get the TV fixed when we're back."
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Barnes." You smile, thumb swiping across the dent in his nose, an imperfection in a sea of many. "Thai for dinner?"
"Lemme check my calendar." Bucky takes a step back, feeling his heart constrict in a way that he's gotten used to craving. "I may have an opening."
"Please, don't try too hard."
"I'll have my secretary get back to you."
You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. "I love you."
"So, that's a yes then?"
"Get on the plane, Bucky." You sigh. "You already know the answer."
"Love you more." He grins at you, bright and like he's never known sadness. "Catch you later."
____________
In the days that pass, he doesn’t know how to be.
His body leaves him no choice– staying up all night, waiting for Wanda to show up at the door, fingers burning to take it all back. He keeps the doors locked and windows shut, as if ageing wood would provide any sort of a barrier when it came to her will.
Bucky walks around in a trance, eyes glossy and body stiff like he isn’t sure how much of what he’s seeing is real.
Your body, housed in his old clothes, looks three seconds away from death. He keeps a bucket by the bed from when you cough up dust, the last remainder of old organs. He massages leg spasms, and muscle cramps from your neck.
He keeps a towel close by for the nausea and anything in between as your body fights off the shock of a rebirth. Allopathy is useless when you're a God either way, so he resorts to herbs and roots to alleviate as much as he can.
Your lungs struggle for air at night. He’s already awake, propping you up to make sure you’re breathing better. He rubs at your back in circles the same way he used to do for Steve and finally takes a breath when the wheezing subsidies.
He fervently tells you he loves you every time you slip back under, and wipes at your forehead with a wet cloth to ease the warmth. He’s met with coughing fits and clenched eyes.
Exactly one week from your return, a trip downstairs to gather more firewood for the room and Bucky falters to a stop near the kitchen.
There's a note pinned to the dining table with no indication as to how it got there.
The debt is repaid. This was by your will. Whatever happens next will be by hers.
Every hour, he watches rotting flesh, dissolved muscles and clotted blood crawl out of your mouth. He forces himself to watch. It was his choice after all.
Bringing you back from the dead was never going to be easy.
_________
A week later, the remains of your old body stop exhuming itself. Perspiration beads line your forehead, and he thinks the salt of sweat is your first act of creation.
Your breath steadies. Nights go smoother. He learns he can live off of two hours of sleep.
He toys with the idea of telling someone. Sam. Thor, even. But your lips are bluer than he’s ever seen, even more than when he’d introduced you to blueberry juice pops when the heat beat down on you both in July, and you’d kissed his red-stained ones.
The longer he stares at you, he dismisses the idea. Something in him says that beyond being something they could accept, they could actively bring a stop to what he was doing right now.
He couldn’t afford that. Not now, not ever; not when he’s let you down once before already. It’s a secret for now, then. For as long as it needs to be.
__________
In the days later your nervous system seems to be rewiring itself. The first time he sees you with your eyes open, the plates he’s holding clatter to the floor.
“Hey,” he whispers, fingers clutching the side of the bed, “Hey, honey. Can you hear me?”
But your eyes never meet his. He slowly follows your gaze to the closed window, eyes glassy and surrounded by strings of red.
He sees you mouth something, and desperate as he is, he never truly understands what it is before you’re gone again.
His exhale leaves staggering, head dipping to your arm as he clenches his eyes tight till he sees spots.
_____________
Bucky starts leaving the windows open. The ones in your room, at least, and only when he's there to keep watch.
It becomes a mission then. The next time you opened your eyes couldn’t be to the desolation he lived in for months. He looks for flowers. Vines. Anything to make the place look less dreary and miserable. He cleans the blinds, and dusts the paintings in the room.
The cells in your body seem to be working overtime– every day there is a little bit less that reminds him of where you came from. Scabs fall away faster than they grow, leaving unbroken skin.
He notices it late. There is only one wound that remains-- a red, jagged scar along your stomach. It looks angry. Heals slower than the rest of them. It is the only place Bucky sees specks of gold instead of bronze when you exert yourself too much.
__________
It takes a good amount of time. He should have anticipated it— the next time you awake, and the next few times after that are only when the sun chases beyond the horizon.
He drops to your side with questions of “can you hear me?” or “does something hurt?” but each time, something outside the widow holds your attention dear to its chest and unwilling to share.
The moon rays become an elixir more powerful than anything from this Earth. Light almost surrounds you like a cloak, sinking into your skin and drowning in your bones.
He stays up at night, massaging your arms and your temples, but you are still so cold to the touch he isn’t sure the blood is circulating at all. So he gets more firewood. Makes sure the house is warm all the fucking time.
Stagnant. Still. Some nights he thinks he can see you looking at him from the corner of your eye.
The second he turns, you lay unmoving as before.
________
He stands labouring over the stove. There's a batch of rich tomato soup, with bread toasting in a skillet nearby. He alternates between wiping down the bowl to serve you in, though you still haven’t eaten, and stirring the soup to stop it from sticking to the bottom of the pan.
He makes note that he still has to get more gauze from the town, and proper tools to sand down the chairs before he can even think of--
But something interrupts his to-do list. It's so soft, he thinks for a second he's imagining it. But the ladle he's holding clangs against the pot, and he abandons the bowls with such hurry that he wouldn't be surprised if it's in shards.
He races up the stairs, three at a time, his heart is thumping louder than the floorboards creaking.
It’s silent. He can hear his own arm whirring quietly.
He lets out a breath when he sees you haven’t changed positions since he last saw you, and wordlessly turns to head back downstairs to an over-bubbling cauldron of soup.
"Bucky?"
It’s almost like eternity whooshes past his ears when he realises that he wasn't imagining it.
“Hey.” He drops without a second thought to your bedside, knees scraping against the wood. “Hey. Hi sweetheart. What do you need?”
“Water,” your voice is hoarse and just above a whisper, but you’re looking at him.
You’re fucking looking at him, and your eyes are a share darker than he remembers them being.
He makes a grab for the jug by your bed and holds a full glass to your lips carefully, watching as water treacles in through chapped lips.
"How are you feelin’?" He hates how shaky his voice sounds, as if he wasn't prepared. As if he hadn’t been waiting.
It takes a second for you to form the word. "Tired."
His fingers brush against your cheek. "What can I do for you?"
You don’t respond, and he watches your chest rise and fall heavily again. You were asleep again.
He bites into his lower lip so hard he can taste the rust of his blood. Moonlight filters in through your curtain and he runs his thumb over the corner of your eye, placing a kiss on your forehead.
It was a start.
___________
Bucky grew up with siblings he outlasted and an absolute wildfire of a friend. It was safe to say the man had more patience than most.
The same conversation repeats three more times over the next few days, and he answers each time with as much tender refrain as the first, begging to know where he can help and what he can do.
“Tired” turns to “I’m tired” turns to “I’m just tired”, and with each he is as proud and hopeful as he was when you talked the first time.
You begin to eat finally, and he hopes his skills aren’t bad enough to send you to the other side again. Spoonfuls of soup. Bites of bread. A glass of water, and then two.
“Buck,” you rasp.
And he’s as ready as he was the previous day, with a gentle, “Tell me, sweetheart.”
You’ve already gotten a slice of bread into you today, and you’ve slept through the night. He’s considering this one of the best days you’ve had so far, and that alone is triumph enough to ease the anxiety that pervades him.
“I was dead.” But this was new.
Bucky blinks, not sure if he heard you right. Your eyebrows knitted together tells him he did.
“You were,” he confirms, not daring to breathe.
“But now…” you trail off, as if you were expecting to wake up that minute.
His Adam’s apple shifts up and down. “Things changed.”
“How?” you ask, eyebrows pulling together even tighter, and he worries it takes energy that could be used elsewhere.
The muscles in his jaw tighten anxiously. The floorboards press into his knees.
"You did something?" your voice comes back quietly.
His silence is enough of an answer.
"How long was I gone?"
"It’s been a while, honey," he replies, eyes never leaving yours.
Your head turns to face the ceiling, a deep exhale working its way through you. Bucky's eyes drift to the scar on your stomach, hidden under the fabric. Thorny and broken.
"Who knows?"
His gaze shifts back to your face, but you aren't looking at him.
"Only me," he says, voice unwittingly dropping before adding, "and Wanda."
"Wanda," you repeat quietly. "It was magic."
Something familiar sets into Bucky's chest. Heavy, pressing down on his throat and making the bile rise.
"I'll get you more water," he says, pausing briefly to look at you, but you continue to stare at the roof. "I'll be right back."
You don’t have a response for him. As he makes his way to the door, it follows like a shadow. He pauses by the frame to look at you once again, but your eyes have closed.
Bucky watches for a second, swallowing thickly. It feels all too similar to guilt.
__________
Bucky dedicates himself even more vigorously to the house. He finally takes out the cutlery, cleans it up the best he can and wipes down the table every single day. He spends the day collecting fruits for juices and vegetables for broth. Firewood. Making sure everything is sharp enough to use, and the traps he set up in his initial time here were still functional.
He checks to see if the trees can take the weight of the swing he’s hoping to fashion out of bark. How fast it would take to polish the porch chairs and flooring, and what exactly it would take to do that.
No matter how much he cleans, it isn’t enough to wipe the look on your face from where it was seared into his brain like hot iron.
A week later he's in the garden, digging up the ground to plant seeds. It's January, and it's still fucking freezing, but he's gonna fucking try anyway.
He's got a hold of seeds of poppy, marigold, daisies and who knows what else, and plenty of fucking time.
"You garden now?"
He looks up in surprise. You lean against the backdoor, no winter coat on even though it's freezing. It flashes in his mind that you look paler than you used to, and he wonders if that will go in time.
“I’ve always gardened,” Bucky defends weakly, and tries to keep his tone normal. “Just– not well.”
Arms crossed over your chest, you ask, “Has that changed?"
“Can’t say it has, sweetheart." He looks at the mess he's created on the ground. "'M tryin', though.”
The corner of your lip upturns into a faint smile. His stomach twists painfully.
"You're up," he says, a little too late. It came faster than he thought it would. Then again, you weren’t human. You didn’t always listen to the laws of nature.
"Y'feeling cold?" he adds quickly.
You shrug, pushing off from the door to slowly take a seat. Your legs dangle off the ledge of the porch, barefoot. Bucky waits for you to swing your legs like you always have but you stay still.
He dusts his hands on his jeans and stands, tugging his jacket off his shoulders and holding it out to you. "Can I?"
"Go on," you allow, and he drapes it around your shoulders, making sure it isn't likely to slip off before stepping back.
A draft blows past you both without either of you saying a word. Discarding the little shovel on the ground, Bucky chooses to take a seat beside you instead.
"You will feel cold, won't you?"
"I'll be fine, don't worry 'bout me," he reassures.
"Seems like you have it covered already," you say, making a motion to imitate the shape of his beard. "Mighty fine mane you've got there, James. You could give Odin a run for his money."
He gives a short chuckle, threading his hands through his hair that reaches down to his shoulders.
He’s finding it hard to formulate words. He couldn’t even tell if his mind was racing or entirely blank.
"You've got grey in your beard now," you observe. It sounds wistful. Sad even, and all of a sudden he’s left realising that he doesn't know how long it has been for you.
"Been a while since I got a haircut."
Christ, he was drier than a brick. His conversational skills and charm had deserted him along with the rest of his luck.
You lift your eyes from his beard to his face, scanning from his hairline down to his chin. "You look as handsome as you always have," you say and his heart jumps. "Just a bit..."
Sadder. Tired. Mistrusting.
"Older," you settle on.
He'd grown more wrinkles than he could count, and his skin didn't bounce back as much as it used to.
Beyond that, he smiled a lot less. He spent more time thinking than verbalising.
“You need help?” He hears you ask faintly, head gesturing to the patch of dug-up mud.
“You need to get rest,” Bucky shakes himself out of it. “I’ll get you some–”
“I’ve rested long enough, Buck,” you say assertively.
He wonders if you did. Bucky remembers what you told him of Asgardian funerals. How your body is set floating along a river, and your soul lifts towards the sky to rest. You never got to have that. He doesn’t even know if they sent an empty log along a cold river.
"Tomorrow?" he delays.
You look at him briefly before nodding.The ground stays untouched and the sky still greys. Bucky sees you take a few deep breaths, shuddering when a draft of wind blows by. He silently shrugs off his scarf too, and wraps it around your neck loosely.
You simply let him. Minutes pass in silence, and neither of you make any motion to move.
You bump your shoulder into his. "I see you haven't fixed the TV yet."
A swift exhale leaves him in the form of a laugh. He turns away so that you don't see how his eyes begin to burn.
"Sorry, honey," he croaks out, "I've been distracted."
The smile you give him is melancholic, and that's enough to dissolve his red eyes from a warning into tears.
_________
Bucky buys every single streaming platform available, and every channel available on cable.
That night he takes apart every single component of the television, wipes it down and puts it back together better than before. He only rests when it's 2am and the sound of late night commercials softly flood the living room.
__________
Bucky takes the guest bedroom, initially, a floor away from you to give you the space you need.
He then realises it's too far, it's too risky. Sheepishly, he shifts to the same room as you, but makes himself a place to sleep on the floor with blankets and a pillow.
You voice your protest, and even though he’s spent three years curled up beside your sleeping frame, he says his back could use the hard surface now.
He gets you clothes from town. Sweaters and socks, scarves. Things he knew you used to like and things he always promised he'd get if he had another chance. You take them with a small smile and a thanks. He sees you wear them around the house, and while they're exactly the size they should be, and the colours he knows you love.
There's a nagging feeling in him that they don't sit right. They don't look right. Still, you wear them on the days you can leave the bed. He shows you around the house. The good parts, at least, and pretends like that’s how he’s always lived even though he can tell you see right through his facade.
He’s there when you thrash around at night. Bucky's up before the minute is even over, at your side and gently calling your name till you jolt awake. He hands you glass after glass of chilled water, rubbing your back in circles till the wave passes. It’s entirely too reminiscent of what you used to do for him, and he hopes the familiarity would do you good.
Sometimes you tell him what you saw. Darkness enveloping you for hours, holding you close and sliding its vines over you, binding your limbs like rope before you're shoved into blinding light.
“Last I remember was the fight," you say one night, as he wipes the sweat from your forehead. "I cannot tell how much of it was real, it's--"
And you pause and struggle, and he's at a loss for words because you never have been. You've always known what to say. You've always had a thought you wanted to share.
"Thor told me a little bit," he offers quietly. "If you'd want, I'd tell ya."
You look at him, conflict raging behind drained irises. "I was fighting. I heard them say something about-- there was a building with civilians hiding."
"Yeah, there was," he confirms, voice tight.
"They wanted to-- do something to it." You close your eyes, brows furrowing in concentration. "I told Thor I would get them out before anything happens. We had done it so many times before."
"He said there was an explosion."
The sky explodes from the early azure of dawn to a blinding white to a blood-curdling crimson.
And Bucky was too slow to get you out.
"I don't remember that," you say and his eyebrows furrow. "I remember--"
Bucky watches you hesitate for a second before your hands nimbly move the fabric of your shirt slightly to reveal the outline of the scar, inhaling sharply.
"I wasn't careful enough. There were civilians I was getting out and someone from behind--"
It dawns in a slow realisation the reason why the scar hadn’t healed yet. Why it stood out from the others that littered your skin. Bucky had thought for this long that you'd died in a blaze, trapped under bricks and mortar. That you had been left suffocating because he hadn't been fast enough, that he wasn't good enough.
"I knew I would not be awake for long. I just wanted to get rid of as many of them as I could."
"The building came down." He swallows the rock in his throat. "We spent days searching through it."
"I think I was gone before the explosion happened."
It makes sense-- the sky shifted all too quickly that day. You were gone before he even had the chance. Your fate had already been sealed.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I should have been there.”
“I’m glad you weren’t. It wasn’t a pretty sight.”
"That's not–" his words come out in a rush, stumbling over each other, insistent. "If I was there--"
"There is no point in punishing yourself," you interrupt his spiral. "It was a choice I made. I would do it again. It was what had to be done."
He swallows thickly when he knows the conversation ends there.
__________
Some nights Bucky settles on pressing a kiss to your knuckles, and lingers there for a second longer than he should.
You turn to face him from your place on the bed, looking at him like you've known him for centuries. Some nights it feels like you have.
_________
Bucky builds you a swing. It's a little ridiculous, and it takes a whole week to do it.
But your face breaks into the biggest smile he's seen since you got here, and he can taste the sun on his tongue. The strange feeling in his stomach is alleviated for a moment, and replaced with something closer to pride.
You spend hours on it while he works on parts of the house. He makes sure you've got a blanket with you at all times, even though you’ve never once told him you feel cold.
You ask him questions about everything. Him, the world; like you’re trying to relearn what you’ve lost.
"How long ago did you buy this place?"
"Nearly two years ago," he replies, paintbrush in hand as he swipes up and down the deck. "Owners hadn't come here in a while and they wanted it off their hands quick, so I made an offer."
You hum, using the balls of your feet to swing yourself higher. "I have always wondered what it would be like to live in a place like this."
Bucky’s painting halts for a second as he fights a smile, but he doesn't respond. The squeaking of the swing stops. He looks over to you, only to find you already looking at him.
"Is this why you bought it?" you accuse.
Bucky returns to painting the wood, face turned away.
"You are far more of a hopeless romantic than I ever remember you being."
He scoffs out a laugh. "You'd'a run away."
"I wouldn’t have." You narrow your eyes. "I have had suitors in the past who've done far worse. You are far from the most embarrassing."
"You laughed when we kissed for the first time," he points out, amused.
Your jaw drops. "That was because I wasn't expecting it. You'd been courting me for months, I thought you were never going to move beyond that."
"I was tryin' t'be a gentleman," he defends. "I didn't know how they do it in Asgard."
"Well, for starters, they don't kiss someone after dropping tiramisu all over them."
He cringes, but it doesn't escape him that memories of the both of you feel like they're accompanied by a light this time, instead of dread. "Could you blame a fella for bein' nervous?"
"I do not know why, you had no reason to be."
He wants to ask if you've seen yourself before. He was damn near pissing himself whenever you got too close to him. The tiramisu was just collateral damage from when you chose to wipe cream smudged at the corner of his lip that night.
When he lifts his head to look at you, you're back to swinging. Back to your own world. A new one you seem to have constructed for yourself since you came back. Back then he was privy to all your thoughts, no matter how mundane they were.
Right before he goes back to painting the deck, his brain makes a small connection. It's a small detail, but one that holds a lot more weight the more he begins to notice.
Your back curves in on itself ever so slightly. No longer pin-straight. His grip on the brush grows a little tighter.
__________
February rolls around. Bucky's only managed to work up the courage to hold your hand occasionally when you go for walks.
Fingers laced in yours, he shows you parts of the woods he's discovered that stray from the main path. The shrubs that look like they're alight when the sunset catches them. The trees that have a hole right through the centre, like they've taken a bullet.
You keep him out longer and longer, and by now he’s run out of things to show you. He ends up repeating a lot, but you look glad each time, like you’re learning something new about him each day even though he’s dredged you through the same mud path at least thrice now.
He wants to think that it’s because you like having longer to hold his hand.
You listen intently, asking questions whenever you could. You let him know what parts you like better, and parts you’re glad he’s left behind, even if it was recent.
Bucky blushes from head to toe when you pick a flower and tuck it into his hair, and you smile it away with a swing of your hand.
"You get visitors?" Your mouth moves in tandem with your fingers that weave together a crown from stray leaves and blades of grass. You tell him, even though he remembers, that it was something you learnt from Sif growing up.
"Sam drops by every now 'n then."
"Do you visit them?" you ask, hands twisting deftly and with skill of someone who’s done this all too many times. "How has everyone been?"
Should he tell you he's been sequestered? That he dropped everything and disappeared overnight because the questions of 'are you fine?' and 'do you want to talk?' became as suffocating as a thick cloud of smoke.
"Last I heard, they were doin' alright." He hopes it's enough.
"I tried talking to Thor," you tell him casually, but it feels like a cold fist clamps down on his chest.
“And?”
“I couldn’t hear him,” you tell him, just as normally and he’s disgusted that he feels even the tiniest bit of relief. “I couldn’t hear Heimdall either. I know he’d respond if he could hear me, so I can only assume he hasn’t.”
“You’re sayin’ you’re not able to talk to them?” His voice sounds small.
“I believe I lost the ability to communicate with them,” you tell him, tying the last bit of grass together. “I don’t think there is precedence for when someone comes back from the dead.”
You hand him the crown, and Bucky doesn't dare to meet your eyes. It’s too small for him. It’s closer to the size for a child.
"'M sorry, honey," he mumbles. It returns to his stomach. The sick, gnawing feeling that he’s tried to obtain salvation for.
"I still have you,” you tell him, “But you were here for this long without anyone. It must have been lonely.”
Truth be told, he never really noticed. It almost seems like he’s forgotten how it felt.
"Hasn't been for a while, now." He squeezes your hand.
"I don't like the idea of you staying here alone.” Your eyes scan his face. "You deserve to be around others."
Bucky doesn't know what it is about the way you say it-- like you're not entirely sure you're here either. Like you aren't real.
He calls your name, unsure, scared even. You answer with a hum.
"Are you okay with being here?" It’s too late to be asking this.
Your face pulls together thoughtfully, but he can't decipher what you're thinking.
"I like spending time with you. Always."
Your head leans on his shoulder, and you resume the tune you’re humming. Bucky tries not to think about the fact that you haven't quite answered his question.
_________
He wakes up on the ground again, not to your muffled groans or bed sheets being thrown to the ground.
You're not in bed. The window is open. There's scattering downstairs, and it's followed by a strange scent, and for a second he panics.
He scrambles down the stairs, mind already conjuring pictures and images so vile and ghastly--
But all he sees is you in his biggest shirt, one that you yourself once got him as a joke for a punchline he can’t really remember right now.
And you're surrounded by broken pans, bent forks and an entirely indiscernible charred mass on the bottom of a skillet.
"I tried to cook," you admit, "like on TLC."
"And you broke the pan?" he asks, a little stunned, a lot more in love.
"I did not realise your cookware would be so weak." You try so desperately to hide a smile. "Tried to scrape it off using the fork."
He looks at the misshapen piece of cutlery.
"And what's that?" He slowly makes his way into the kitchen towards you.
"The remnants of a frittata." You hold it out to him.
Bucky takes the handleless skillet from you and looks at the ashes.
"What do you think?" you ask.
Bucky holds it back out to you. "Could use a few more minutes on the stove."
The smile you try to hold back breaks into laughter and his face lights up in surprise. It's the first time since you've gotten here, and the first time in years since he's been graced with the sound.
He bites his lip when you take it back from him, all while still giggling, like he doesn't quite believe his ears.
"I do believe I would fare better at toas-- oof."
Bucky pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping around you like a weighted blanket. The pan drops to the counter as his head falls to your shoulders.
"I missed you so fuckin' much," he utters desperately into your neck, clenching his eyes closed so tight it hurts.
"I missed you too," you say softly, arms circling his waist, pulling him closer.
___________
The days start to get warmer. Your skin still stays cool to the touch. It's something he's getting used to. For years he was used to waking up at night to turn down the thermostat, just so that he could stay under the covers with you without burning up.
But while good days increase, there are the ones you spend too feverish to get out of bed. You sleep the whole day, only waking when he brings you food.
March fades the dark circles around your eyes as much as it can, but they never truly go. The scar on your stomach doesn't heal beyond a certain point, and is always ready to turn garish and violent on days you can't get your head to lift.
Bucky wonders if you’ll ever get better.
Fevers break when the mornings do. You tell him you dream of the same thing over and over. Darkness, holding onto you with the same tenacity as a mother stops a child from running into a flame.
You walk with your shoulders drooped, and always some sleep in your smile. Sometimes he hears you call for your parents, who he knows haven't been around for a few hundred years. He hears Thor's name, and Loki's during nights that are more peaceful.
On days that are good, you spend time helping with the garden and for once, the flowers start growing. Tree bark he can't break into two, you manage with one hand. You watch shows together on the couch, and he massages your head when it's in his lap.
And finally, Bucky shows you the lake when it thaws over. Crystal clear waters let you peer at the little plants growing on the bottom, and the sunlight glows in the ripples.
You notice the engraving on the boulder before he has the chance to divert your attention. When you ask, he tells you about the little memorial and the rain and the loss of the hair tie.
Your hand squeezes his a bit tighter. He thinks no memorial can hold a candle to that.
You look at your reflection in the water a lot. Bucky sits beside you, skipping stones to see how far it can go, like he did in the harbour as a kid. Steve always used to win, no matter how much Bucky tried.
"There was a lake by my school when I was child," you tell him. "When I was mad, I used to skip class to go sit there for hours."
“What made you mad?” He chuckles.
“A lot of things. I had too much energy to just sit there, and that was ‘unbecoming of a future leader of Asgard’.” Your face pulls into one of distaste. “I always thought there was more to learn about the world than what their books contained.”
Bucky collects a few pebbles from around him. "Did the lake make you feel better?"
"Always." You take a stone from him to skip across the surface. "Sometimes my friends used to join. Our elders said the water had the ability to remember. Loki used to make faces, and it would always linger for a few seconds before it disappeared. Even after we thought he was gone, I'd see his face there."
Bucky stays quiet, nodding at points to let you know he was listening.
"I used to see younger versions of myself sometimes," you continue, voice distant. "It always surprised me. I thought I used to know what I looked like. It was different each time."
You inch towards the shoreline, leaning forward on your knees. The clear water looks like an open sky underneath you. "I look different now, too," you say. "But I can't remember what I used to look like."
Bucky discards his stones to come join you, leaning down to where you were. The face staring back at him pulls a sick, twisted feeling in his gut. Deep in him, he knows what you're talking about extends beyond immediate impressions. Centuries of being intertwined with the universe had always given you lines and traces that transcended your physical appearance.
You have always felt like the God of the Night.
Now you have been to the other side and returned, seen things others haven't and still kept intact. While he doesn't have the courage to admit it, he knows in his blood what you feel like.
He's scheduled an appointment with him many times, but always just missed it.
Now, you feel closer to the God of Death.
"You've always been beautiful. Still are." It's a band aid on a gaping, festering wound.
Even still, you look at him with a smile. "So are you."
Bucky makes the mistake of looking at his visage in the water, and immediately recoils.
"Christ," he grunts at the difference between the both of you. "What a fuckin' mess."
"Oh, it isn't that bad," you laugh, watching him contort his face.
"Easy for you to say, you look stunning." He points to your reflection. "I look like I was raised by wolves."
"You just need a shave," you hum.
"I need a new face."
You leave aside his last comment to propose something entirely new instead, "I could do that for you."
"What? Give me a new face?" he asks and you give him a pointed look. "Oh. Shave my beard?"
"Same thing, no?"
He supposes so. "Alright," he agrees, with a certainty reserved for no one else.
A small smile appears on your face, even though you aren't really looking at him.
Bucky watches you lean forward. Your fingers dip into the water, disturbing the reflection.
_____
Late evening finds you settled on the counter, armed and ready. "Lot of trust you're putting in me."
"I'd trust you with anything," he says, looking in the mirror to check once again that foam covers every inch of hair on his jaw. "You know this."
"Still," you note, watching him tilt his chin up. "I could do this with a dagger, if you'd like."
"This works fine, thanks."
You let out a laugh, and he finally steps in front of you, satisfied with his part. You swish the razor into water once again just in case, before leaning forward.
The first swipe goes agonisingly slow. Bucky watches your face screw up in concentration as you scrape down his left cheek.
You pull back and make a face. He raises his eyebrow in question.
"You are too far away," you declare, wrapping an arm around his bicep and tugging him closer.
Your legs wrap around his waist to keep him in place, locking behind his back. His breath hitches in his throat the proximity but you appear entirely unfazed, washing the razor again.
"Are you okay?" you ask, keeping one hand on his neck for balance as you get a much better go at his face.
"Yep," he thinks he says. It may just have been a sound.
You could have spent hours there for all he cares. He's too focused on the pressure of your legs on the small of his back and the way he's basically melted into your hand.
"Your eyes have always been my favourite feature," you tell him, blade carefully running down the curve of his jaw. "When you smile hard, there are these lines in the corner. It's like you can't handle being that happy."
He can't tear his sight from you, and from the fact that this is the closest you’ve been in years. You may as well have been telling him utter nonsense, and he'd still find it hard to control his breathing.
"But I have a soft spot for this." You lightly tap the bridge of his nose. He knows immediately what you're talking about. "I will never forget how stupid you were. Throwing yourself in front of danger like that."
"Couldn't let that guy touch you," his voice comes out an octave lower than what it was. "I'd gladly take a few more punches."
"That's why they stopped pairing us up on missions." The corner of your lip upturns, and you swish the razor around in water again. "You were being reckless."
"I'd do it again."
"One scar is enough." You tilt his jaw to see if you'd gotten everything. "I don't enjoy you getting hurt on my account."
Bucky exhales deeply when you get started on the other side. His hands itch to hold your waist, pull you closer like it’s been carved into the strands of his being, but they stay by his side.
"I tried for so long after you were gone," he tells you instead, to gain a sense of control. "I went to the therapist. I tried talkin' about it. No one got it. It was the same thing over, and over."
How do you explain that it wasn't simply a person. He thought that that was where it ended-- everything in his life had finally culminated. And that was taken too.
"Went back to the roof a month after everything happened," he continues, studying your reaction. "It was s'ppsed to be a clear night. There was nothing in the sky. I couldn't see the constellations. I couldn't see your family-- I couldn't see you."
You listen intently, but never stop working at him. The longer you spent there, the more of his old face revealed itself to you. Worn, and aged a thousand years in a few months, but it was still the still face you swore to love and cherish for aeons.
"They took all your stuff. Said it belonged to Asgard, they couldn't keep it here. Thor went off grid. All I had was pictures of us and the hair tie you gave me."
You clean the razor off in water, eyebrows furrowing at the information.
"It felt like you were never here. Like I'd just made you up all those years." You can hear the faint trembling in his voice. "But I had memories of you in all these places-- and I couldn't stay. It was easier to move here and start again."
Looking back at him, you realise you've already finished. There was nothing left on his face to clear.
"Was it hard?" you ask finally, letting go of the razor in the water.
He looks at you, and you know he's struggling to form the right words. He looked like he wanted to scream, rip the hair out of his scalp, punch a hole through the mirror.
"More than anything.” His voice comes out raw and peeling.
Bucky watches you look at him for a long moment, and he wonders if he’s said too much too soon.
But instead you kiss him.
His arms find its way back home around your waist, and he feels you sigh against his mouth before your body relaxes, tilting your head to deepen it.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there,” you breathe, forehead leaning against his.
"Don't," he begs.
You search his eyes for any kind of a message.
He kisses you harder, pulling you flush against him.
__________
Bucky moves into your bed after you threaten him well and good, and he knows you intend to keep your promises.
For the first time since he can remember, he keeps the windows open throughout the night and throughout the day.
It’s foolish, to think he was invincible. That what you had had finally cemented itself as final.
You both stay in as long as you want. There is no hurry, nothing to get to. You talk a lot more. You begin to tell him sometimes at night that you see glimpses of what seemed like beyond the end.
Gold. Blood of ichor. Warriors fallen in battle go to Valhalla. Trees that kissed the skies, and valleys so green it hurt. Sometimes, in the corner of your eyes, you could see those you'd lost over the years waiting for you, hand outstretched.
No matter how hard he tries, Bucky doesn’t seem to get it. Every time he thought he was dead, there was only jet black silence and crushing pain. Then again, he never truly died.
But he isn’t ignorant. Fevers and fatigue that initially lasted a day, now knock you out for a week. There are times you throw up more than you've eaten, and the dark circles look like abysses.
He worries to the point of his stomach churning. You look like you don't have the energy to be here, even though you kiss him like you do.
Bucky runs his hands over your scalp and tells you stories of his childhood. What he felt when you moved in with him, how anxiety made space for comfort. He reads you tales from other mythologies and marks the similarities in the stories you've told him over the years.
Each time you come around your smile gets more tired. Your shoulders grow heavier and your skin loses colour.
You still cook breakfast together. You still watch TLC together to figure out the culture on earth because even after all this while, you still maintain that's the best way to do it.
Things could still be good. But more often than not, Bucky wonders if he’s unknowingly surrendered you to a life you do not wish to live.
_______
"Sweetheart?"
You continue to drag your finger through the water, oblivious to what he's saying.
He calls your name, and there's still no response. April sees this happening more often, and Bucky's learnt that no matter what he does, it only seems to worsen.
He touches your shoulder lightly and you almost jump.
"It's getting late. Wanna head back?" he asks, because you’ve skipped out on lunch to stay by the shore the whole day. It seems like it’s the only place you want to be.
"Yeah." You give him a small smile, wiping your hands on your pants.
"Want a hand?" he asks, holding out his.
You grab it, and pull yourself up, giving him a small peck on the lips along the way.
It feels comically normal. He wants to pretend that it is.
"Pasta tonight?" you ask breezily, slipping your hand into his.
Your fingers are ice cold to the touch. He forces back a shudder.
"Anything you want," he promises.
__________
He catches you humming as you water the plants, when you walk with him, while you read from the end of the bed.
It's the song of my people, you tell him. They used to sing it when everyone was together.
He listens to the tune and tries to commit it to memory, but it changes far too often.
May catches you staring a lot more often. At walls. The trees. The lake is the worst.
On what would have been the fifth anniversary of the both of you being together, he brings you a cake. The both of you share it over a glass of wine, even though it clashes terribly and leaves an aftertaste.
You laugh harder than you have in the last few weeks and he gets to feel triumphant for an evening.
You chase the frosting on his lips with a searing kiss, and that's that.
“What do you suppose it means?” you ask later that night, arm wrapped around his middle.
“What?” he mumbles, drowsy from a full stomach and good time.
“That I got a second chance and others didn’t?” your voice sounds distant.
Bucky is suddenly very awake.
“It couldn’t be that they weren’t as loved," you continue. "So then what made me different?"
He doesn’t have an answer.
He rolls over to look at you. But you are staring at the ceiling once again.
_________
His unwavering faith that he can learn to live with it feels like it’s eroding.
Death changes everyone. He knows that before Steve left a few years ago, he wasn't the same Brooklyn-born spitfire. Steve's died a dozen or so times. He was reborn into a different soul each time.
Spring bounds towards you with warmth and life. The grass is greener, and Bucky's learnt there's more to life than just casseroles and toast.
You bring him more flowers to tuck into his hair. He wears them dutifully, and then learns to press them in between pages of books you both buy from old bookshops.
You give him wider smiles. You talk a lot less.
Bucky learns that silence doesn't have to be filled. He's loved you in the winter, and he loves you in spring.
But there is always a tension simmering under the surface, just out of reach, like the sky reflecting in the lake.
Sometimes you say things that he can't quite make sense of. Sometimes it's a lot more obvious, and the same feeling of guilt returns to his chest and flowers under his ribs.
So he asks you one day. You're on the couch, head in his lap while he reads a book you've annotated the week before. The only disturbances are when he stops occasionally to ask you why you liked a line, or why you drew a heart next to another.
You're humming the tune he can’t catch.
There's nothing really wrong, but he knows. He can feel it in his marrow.
“Sweetheart," he calls gently.
You look up at him.
"Are you– are you happy?” And he leaves his heart, raw and unprotected on the line.
You don’t look surprised. Not entirely knowing either.
A beat passes before you open your mouth to speak.
“I like being here with you. I love you, I always have, and I will always love being here with you,” you choose your words carefully. “But I don’t know if I can feel that anymore. Happiness, I mean. Or sadness.”
Bucky keeps the book down. You don't lift your head from his lap.
“I feel like there’s a void where my body should be,” you continue in a chance to explain, “I feel like I'm made of air.”
“Are you feeling under the weather?” Bucky tries to find a rationalisation. Anything, that he can fix. That he can control.
You slight him a smile. “Not since the last bout.”
He doesn't know. He doesn't want to get it. He’s always felt that he was selfish, that that was ultimately what led to his punishments. This was a whole new level.
“I was born on Asgard. I have always felt like I was a part of the mud and the riverbed. They were a part of me as much as I was, them. I don’t know if that’s still…”
You pause, and Bucky feels time come to a standstill around him.
“I’ve been reborn here,” you continue. “I don’t feel like anything is mine. I don’t feel like… I am a part of something. Even the night.”
He knew. Though he knows in his dreams he can still feel traces of Brooklyn carved into his bones, it had jaded over time, been eroded by years of waking up in places he couldn't place.
You sit up to look at him. Your eyes have an intensity to it that even the universe couldn't mask.
“Do you really like who I am now?” you ask finally.
“I love all of you. Every one.” Ever changing, transient.
“How?” you ask softly. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
He swallows thickly and wills himself to ignore the chill creeping into his body. In truth there is so much he wants to say. He doesn't think that as a war-fractured man from the thirties who grew up in bloodshed will really have the sufficient words.
“I just do. Can’t help it.”
Even if you aren’t satisfied with his answer, he will never know it. He has known for a while now that he's been letting you down since the day he walked into Wanda's cabin.
You give him a slight smile. Lay your head back down on his lap. His book remains unread.
It felt like the beginning of the end.
It's a simple decision then. It would have been, for anyone who wasn’t born with a soul as corrupt as his.
One more week that is hard for you to get up from bed, turns into two. One more week that your face morphs into something he can’t quite recognise. He's never wanted to harm someone he loves, but he seems to do a fine job at it.
It's a simple decision, really. But simple didn't mean easy-- God knows he is anything but a saint.
When you see it finally, the fruits of a labour that took far too less time to manifest than justified the time he spent putting it off, the smile that appears on your face is blinding, he wonders how the sun even has the gall to shine.
“Thor,” you breathe out, only seconds before being engulfed in the most bone-crushing hug you’ve ever received.
Bucky watches from the sidelines, fingers wringing and entirely ready to be smithed to ashes.
“I came as soon as I heard,” he breathes into your shoulder. "I cannot believe this."
You pull back, and standing next to Thor gives Bucky a new frame of reference. One that isn't dependent on how you looked the week prior. He doesn't know how it slipped past him, how he hadn't noticed that you looked so different.
“You look wonderful." You grin at the behemoth of a man. "Your hair has grown out once more."
"They can try cutting it off my dead body," he replies defiantly, arms clasping at your shoulders to keep enough distance to study you from head to toe. "You'll have to give me a second. I didn't think this would be true, when Heimdall gave me James' message."
You look over at Bucky whose lips pull together in a tight line.
He looks embarrassed. Unsure. Afraid. Guilty, and prepared to be berated for how long it took him.
"It's true," you reply instead, giving him a smile. "Here, in the flesh."
Thor squeezes your shoulder once more, and laughs the same laugh he's always had around you. Loud, boisterous and entirely free.
"The others will be thrilled. Sif, Hogun-- you have no idea how the past two years have been. There is so much to catch you up on."
Bucky knows. The fact that you're standing there today is living proof that he knows so well.
“I cannot wait to meet them." The corner of your lips upturn wider at his enthusiasm. "I've missed them terribly."
"We did not get to give you a proper farewell. Your welcome back will be a thousand times better," Thor says brightly. "We can return as soon as you say the word."
You look to Bucky, not for permission, but as a question he's known has been awaiting him a long time.
"Ready?" you ask softly.
He knows you didn't have to ask. That if you'd left him there and never returned, he'd deserve it and worse.
But you're you-- patient and kind. And he thinks that he can try to start redeeming himself.
__________
Turns out he wasn't wrong. Asgard really is too grand for a fella like him.
It is opulence-- gold and towering heights that bleed the love of its citizens and a history richer than words can contain.
Thor is smart. Aside from Heimdall, who greets you with the hug a father gives a child who's been away for too long, no one knows of your appearance until you are ready.
You get a few days in the tower to yourself, to breathe in the air that grew your lungs and touch the marble you've split your head open against in the past. The help are sworn to secrecy, and no one knows who Bucky is anyway except as the man who has been specifically allotted to the same room as you upon your request.
It doesn't take long for your face to pick up. Your skin comes alive with a vibrancy he didn't think he'd see again. You sleep sounder at night, and you eat more than you've had the appetite for in the last few months.
He trails behind you and Thor initially, not wanting to eavesdrop into conversations he has no place being a part of.
But you grab his hand, lace your fingers in his and tug him along as if to say that this is his home too.
He sees what you mean when you say that you are connected to the land. Clothes on Earth have never fit you right. Silks from Asgard decorate you like you are one in the same, like it flows from you.
_________
Reunions are a tearful affair. Lots of hugs are exchanged, punches to the shoulder, and kisses to various parts of your face.
“You have been alive for months, and we are just now learning of it,” Sif holds your hands in hers.
“It took me a while to recover.” You give her a small smile.
“We would have come as soon as you called,” she continues. “You did not have to heal alone.”
“I wasn’t alone.”
Eyes turn over to Bucky, and he’s suddenly very aware that the clothes he’s been given are too rich for him, too grand. He feels small, like they drown him out.
Despite what he’s saying, he feels as though he has deprived you. He knows that he has, and he has no one else to blame but himself.
“Thank you,” Sif says instead, taking him by surprise. “We will remember this.”
“Don’t mention it,” he replies weakly.
__________
It takes days to meet the closest of your friends, until they decide they had their fill. Bucky is slowly introduced to all of them. Boisterous and loud, most greet him with a wide appreciation. Others are less quick to warm, and he gives himself no room to blame them either.
Upon insistence, he joins you for your welcome back dinner, and gets a seat right beside you.
Your hand holds his the entire night, squeezing tighter when something makes you laugh, or when someone is particularly embarrassing.
When there is a lull in the conversation after hours, sly grins are exchanged.
"So, this is the one you raved on and on about."
His eyebrows quirk in amusement.
"I did not rave," you huff. "I simply informed you--"
"For hours. Days even,” they drag on. “A great warrior from earth with eyes that could rival storms--"
Bucky chokes on his wine. You award your friends with several curses and glares.
"Long hair past his shoulders. Oh, and arms to die for--"
You take in the way his face has gone red, all the way up to his ears. You laugh and grip his hand tightly with an unabashed shrug.
"I am only glad that that's all you remember," you joke.
He thinks he should be buried in the garden for his sanity.
_________
Walks around the castle become increasingly common at night. You are mostly left undisturbed, and you take the opportunity to show him everything you've ached to.
Where you've learnt, where you first scraped your knee. The first arrow you shot. Where your parents met. The first and last time you cried over a friend gone astray.
He can't fathom why he ever thought he wouldn't be ready to know this. As if knowing more about you would cement the fact that he was lesser than.
“You look ethereal,” Bucky tells you one night, honest and true.
You look at him, a bit taken aback. There was nothing particularly different about you this evening. In fact, you’d chosen to stay away from festivities today to lie around the gardens with him, citing a headache.
“I should have said yes earlier,” he continues. “You belong here. It shows.”
A laugh leaves you as an exhale. “It feels different.” You run your fingers through his hair. “I don’t know if it would be the same if I brought you here years ago.”
“Different how?” Bucky closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your touch.
“I don’t know,” you tell him. “I am not sure it is what I remember it to be.”
You don’t say anymore. Bucky doesn’t ask.
He lays with you under a clear night sky, and your fingers deftly move the faint lights in the sky to mimic shapes of fishes and hunters.
He notices the sky here, too, has taken the same fate as it has on earth. Not as full as it could be, always just a little less bright.
He assumed it would change when you came back. He assumed it would change when you came to Asgard.
The sinking feeling in his stomach reminds him of what he already knows is going to come.
_____________
There are nights you are dragged off by your friends for things that don't include him.
You shoot him a sorry smile and he tells you to just go with steady reassurance.
Bucky takes to exploring. He's been given robes to blend in. They always fit in a way that's too soft.
He looks at statues erected, memorials in place for those who've given up their lives for a bigger cause. He spots your name in there as well, as if they've not yet entirely sure that you're back. He spends hours at the library, reading up on things he couldn't find on Earth. Where heroes slain in battle actually go, what it's like over there. Stories of when they are brought back. None of them end well.
Thor finds him, and introduces Bucky to Asgardian mead that he swears got Steve tipsy. Bucky’s had a rough couple of years. He’s in no place to turn down a drink.
He remembers what it's like to be 21 and drunk again and like nothing bad can ever happen. When you choose to join in with them, Bucky finds he’s a lot braver and a lot smoother with liquor flowing through his veins.
Stumbling through tower hallways, giggling and stealing open-mouthed kisses in the shadows like a bunch of teenagers until he has your back pressed up against the bedroom door.
“Eager?” you breathe out when he nips at your neck, hands scouring every inch of you he can find.
“What gave it away?” he mutters, pulling away to look you.
Wild eyes and equally untamed hair, and there is a light in his eyes that outshines supernovae.
“I love you,” you tell him, and it’s a startling moment of clarity in the middle of a juvenile hour. “I hope that always remains with you.”
Before he can respond, you thread your hands behind his neck and steer him towards the bed, mouth never once leaving his.
________
Another solitary night, and it's by pure accident that he ends up retracing his steps to the first place he was introduced to in Asgard. He wonders how much of it was intentional, his conscience forcing him to a reckoning long awaiting him.
Heimdall is there as always, standing tall with a grace that is still threatening. Bucky is not a fool-- he knows he can sense his presence.
Still, he looks only for a moment before making leave.
"I hear it was magic that brought her back," Heimdall voices.
Bucky pauses in his tracks.
"Yes," he says, like he’s forced to respond.
"Are you aware of what it takes to bring a body back from the dead?" Heimdall asks, tone still. "Cells are broken and reattached if they do not malfunction. The brain is attacked with sensation after being dormant for months. The heart pumps degraded blood through vessels that have collapsed."
Bucky feels bile rise to his mouth at a memory that seems so far away. Enough has happened since.
Heimdall looks at him, steel cut eyes boring into his. “Our ancestors have tried this for centuries,” he says slowly. “It has always ended the same way.”
Bucky keeps silent. Wonders if the God can hear him swallow the lump in his throat– probably can.
“Tempering with fate has never fared well.”
“I’m not trying to play with fate,” Bucky finds himself moving on its own accord. “If this wasn’t supposed to happen, it wouldn’t have. I am not a God.”
Heimdall stares into his soul and Bucky feels suffocatingly exposed. “The separation between divinity and mortals is thinner than you may imagine.”
“I have no interest in crossing it.”
“Haven’t you?” Heimdall’s eyes flicker over to the direction you were last going in. “When your will supersedes reality– what else do you call it?”
“Luck.” His voice comes back stonily.
Heimdall gives him a wry smile. “No such thing.”
Bucky’s palms feel clammy, his stomach twisting into knots.
“Your grief is natural. But do not let it overpower your love,” Heimdall adds. “I am sorry you had to go through this. I'm afraid sooner or later you will have to see that you cannot disrupt the natural order of things.”
"Why?" His voice cracks and he curses himself.
Heimdall's eyes soften. "There comes a point where your love for someone becomes indistinguishable from hurting them. Your intentions are noble, but you already know where you stand."
Bucky quietly turns on his heel and leaves, but the conversation remains heavy on his mind for days to come.
_________
The first time you fall sick, really sick, like you used to be on Earth, Bucky watches from the sidelines as various people tend to you. Those with divinity at their fingertips, those with herbs and concoctions he’d never heard of, others with tools and prayers and everything.
They try everything. It takes you a full week to recover.
Bucky sits, emotionless by your bedside, and feeds you from a spoon, food that your friends swore you grew up loving.
Asgard was supposed to work. Being here was supposed to work. No one knows what to do, except to wait it out. As your fever quells and Bucky watches you open your eyes for the first time in a few days, everyone breathes a sigh of relief.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says quietly from your bedside. “How can I help?”
The smile you give him is tired. He gives you a small one in return, and leaves a kiss on your forehead.
It feels all too familiar.
God of the Night and the Devil of Cursed Fates.
_________
Thor teaches him the song, the one he caught you humming for months. It sounds different to what he remembers you singing.
He watches you thumb through titles in the Asgardian library, looking for a book of wildlife to show him. It only takes a few seconds for you to hum under your breath again, but Bucky is quick to ask this time.
“Oh.” You blink. “I may have remembered it wrong.”
He tilts his head at you, but you go back to browsing through library books.
___________
Nights in bed, he spends tracing up and down your arm. He's full from a feast, and he's watched you dance around a courtyard with spirit and joy, and for the first time in years he feels like he can breathe.
You drag him along with you, and while he may have been quick on his feet in the thirties, Bucky was significantly older. You don't seem to care. You laugh like nothing has ever worried you before, and he finds it infectious.
"D'you s'ppose we'd have been married by now?" he asks, breaking the quiet.
"I remember turning down your offer," you say, the corners of your mouth pulling upwards. "So, who's to say?"
Bucky's face breaks into a smile, one that looks particularly incredible in the moonlight. "You said I knew what the answer was already. Looks like that leaves the ball in my court."
You look at him, a little endearingly, and as he's come to expect, a little sad.
"I think we would have," you hum. "But you wouldn't have survived wedding festivities here."
He scoffs, rolling onto his back and feels his stomach ache dully. "Barely holdin' on now as it is."
You pull closer to him, fingers dancing across his chest. "Why didn't you try to find someone else?"
He exhales, sharper than he intends. "Didn't wan'to," he mumbles.
"I'd hate to think you didn't try to find others who loved you," you tell him, brows pulled together, "You have so much of it to give. It'd be a shame."
"Didn't see the point." Bucky hopes he doesn't sound as sharp as he does in his head.
"If something were to happen tomorrow, and I am no longer here," you begin and he wants to beg you to stop talking about this, "It would break my heart if you didn't go on with life as you were meant to live it."
"This is how I'm meant to live." He sounds pathetic-- obsessed, and entirely dependent but he isn't sure you know. "This is it. This is the best it's ever gonna get for me."
You look at him, eyebrows knitted. Your thumb caresses his jaw, running across the sharp curve.
"You deserve more," you say gently. "You do. Life has been unkind, but you will always deserve more."
You’re doing it again. Preparing him. For the inevitable he knows is looming on the horizon. The one he saw in Heimdall's eyes.
Still, you notice that it is too much for him, and you break the tension with a smile.
Outside the window, the sounds of a party continue on. You would be out there too, if he hadn't noticed the slow in your movements and the dip in your energy. He instead gave his lack of stamania as a reason and asked if you would join him in the room, for which you shot him a grateful look.
"You never gave me a ring," you remind instead, voice teasing.
Bucky looks at you wearily before silently getting up from the bed.
You sit up in confusion, watching him trail across to the wardrobe and pull out the clothes he was wearing on his first day here.
He shuffles back into bed and turns to you, holding out his hand in a request.
It takes a second but you give him yours, and he silently slides a ring onto your finger. Even in the darkness it glitters like it’s made of light.
"I've had it for ages," he tells you. "Woulda given it to you quicker if you'd just said yes the first time."
You laugh loudly, and hold his face in yours before kissing him hard to the sounds of a fading party.
__________
The effect wears off gradually. It goes the same as it does in the cabin.
You begin to space out visits. Stay in for a day or two, which increases as time passes. Though the castle help are ever gracious and at your beck and call, you send them away in exchange for quiet nights in.
Bucky wipes your forehead with cool cloth. Feeds you nectar by hand and tells you of everything he's learnt since the time you've arrived there.
You begin to look sick again, and miserably, he does not know what to do. You've been attended to by the best of medicine that the nine realms have to offer. You've spent nights with your friends, drinking in joy and embodying love.
But you are dying. You have been since you came back, and he can no longer choose to look past it in hopes for a remedy.
He looks at you like you've given the world the light it bathes in, and wipes your perspiration with his thumb.
You smile back at him in your sleep, and he lets that slow the march towards the end.
_________
One of the good days, you lead him to the lake. The one where water remembers. You point out faces. He discerns them to be some of your friends a couple of hundred years ago.
He follows as you walk along the banks, letting you show him yourself through the years. Some streaked with tears, others with joy so infectious it has his stomach doing flips.
"That is the last time I came here," you point at the last one. "Two months before it happened."
He remembers the trip. He thought he remembered how you were back then, that he'd etched into the crevices of your mind.
When he looks down, he sees a different person. Your face is light. The weight of circumstance does not weigh you down.
You were right when you said you did not recognise the person you were.
That night in bed, he holds onto you tighter than he has, no longer afraid of causing more damage. He has already done the worst, and you've taken it without a word.
“Bucky,” you call.
He doesn’t trust his voice to answer, so he just makes a noise.
Your eyes meet his intently and he knows. You do not have to say a single word to him.
You’ve made a decision. It was your will, as Wanda had told him all those months ago.
“I'm sorry,” his voice cracks. “I'm so sorry. It was so selfish.”
“It's okay,” you press a palm against his cheek and shudders from the cold.
“I love you.” His eyes burn, but he forces himself to take more of you in. “I love you so much, I'm sorry. I just wanted a second chance.”
“I know.” You smile but your voice is sad. “I know. I understand.”
“I don't know how you aren’t angry at me." I don’t know why you stayed.
You look him in his eye, giving him no space to run. "I would have done the same. If I could, I would have done the very same thing."
He chooses to believe that, despite what Heimdall has told him. If he tries, he can find heat in the frigid veins.
"But we are simply delaying the inevitable, my love." You press a kiss to his forehead. "I no longer belong here. I am not who I was. I doubt I will ever be."
He loves every version of you. He already loved, and he will always learn to love whoever you change to be.
"I know it is hard, but I have to go," you tell him softly.
His eyes burn and his head stings.
"I grew up with friends I loved, and a family that loved me. My life was good," you tell him. "I didn't realise how much I wanted to give that forward until you happened. I will always love you for that."
Bucky kisses you till you can't breathe and his tears mix with yours.
Till the morning breaks and you have to tell everyone of your decision, he tells you over and over again a tale you already know. Everything he's ever felt. Everything that’s happened in the last few months– his revolving door of therapists and all the movies he’s watched and all the bakery foods he thought you'd like.
You listen, and you tell him stories he memorises to heart. You are still dying.
But this time he is there, and in that lies his true second chance.
________
A month later, and not a day before that.
You pass away quietly, surrounded by people instead of rubble. He holds your hand throughout, and for long after even once your chest stops rising.
The Asgardians let him stay for as long as he wants, still and quiet. No one says a word as he presses a kiss to the crown, leaning his forehead against yours for as long as the universe permits.
The funeral goes by in a haze. Everyone gathers, even after such short notice. No matter how much time he had to prepare, the air was thick, and he swallows down his discomfort.
A gentle breeze whispers through the columns of the great hall, carrying with it the soft, mournful melodies of Asgardian lyres and flutes.
In the center of the pyre, you lay, ethereal even in repose. Around you, night-blooming flowers bloom alongside, as if the sky itself was paying its respects.
Thor recites the ancient eulogies. With reverent hands, they guide the vessel into the river that flows through Asgard.
As the vessel drifts away, a hush falls over the assembly. Just before reaching the edge of the waterfall, arrows shoot fire onto the wood, letting the flames consume the casket. Bucky holds back a cry.
Thor hits the staff, and the casket continues onward instead of falling off the edge. Within a flash Bucky sees an orb rise above you and shoot off towards the sky.
Thousands of lights are let loose into the sky. He closes his eyes, says a few words no one will know except you, and lets go of the soul orb given to him.
And that was it.
________
Bucky looks at the last of his belongings, tied tightly together.
There were a few things he was allowed to take with him, things that belonged to you while you lived here. He's grateful more than anything, that he's not relegated to photos.
He was made to stay a few more days in Asgard while everything was completed. Though the people were lovely, and he's more than glad he came, he knows that this was where this ended.
He exhales, looking back at the place where he spent the better part of three months.
"You will be alright?" Thor asks, walking with him to the courtyard.
He shrugs. It was still fresh, but the utter despair he had felt the last time had been replaced with a quietness.
"You?" he asks in return.
Thor smiles, and claps his back and Bucky is forced to take a step forward.
"It will be an honour to remember her," he says, and for a moment, Bucky feels a sense of peace at his words. "You are always welcome here."
A small laugh leaves Bucky in the form of an exhale. "Don't be a stranger, Thor."
The God summons the Bifrost and the force is enough to make Bucky hold his hands up to his face.
"I'll see you around. Thanks for everything." His lips pull together in a tight smile.
Thor takes a second, but then says, “You will be alright, James.”
It’s reassuring, he thinks. Bucky nods and turns, taking a step towards the bridge.
"Wait," Thor calls loudly, "I almost forgot."
He turns to him in confusion, and a list of possibilities running through his head.
"She told me to give you this," he says, "She used to carry them around for us."
From around his wrist, he pulls off a hair tie and holds it out to him.
Bucky takes it, a little stunned.
________
Two months pass.
Bucky stands on the threshold of a door that is foreign to him.
His head falls, but his arms raise either way. Two swift knocks and he takes a step back. He looks around nervously, hands stuffing into his pocket. His car lays at the end of the long driveway, ready to leave at any given moment.
For a second, he thinks about making a run for it. But the door swings open and Bucky's eyes quickly dart up.
"Hey," he says, voice coarse. "You got space for one more?"
Sam looks at him in initial surprise, but it fades to softness when he notices the shape the man is in.
“C’mon, Buck,” Sam says softly. “We’ve got you.”
Bucky lets out a staggered breath, and leans over to pick up his backpack that Sam's already beaten him to.
He takes one good look at the sky. Dark, clear and finally returned to the way it had been for centuries.
But he swears that a single star in the corner of his eye shines a little brighter than the rest.
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This scene makes me feral…
The watch, the jaw, the wrist flick, the VEST….🤤
#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#spencer reid smut#my god#the man is gorgeous#like whyyy#the hyperfixation is hyperfixating#real bad#till his mom remembers my name#alright let me stop 😂
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