part one, part two, part three. this a part four. this is so accidentally long but hickies as promised, w a brief return out touch starved steve <3 mwah!
Eddie is sure his kiss tastes of uncertainty.
He can’t help the way his lips betray his nervousness in their obvious restraint. He knows he had been far more enthusiastic last night, eagerness behind every kiss. This kiss is… softer. Shyer.
He can’t help it. Because even though Steve said yes, had maybe flattened Eddie’s heart by adding a please, Eddie’s still… unsure. Still worried. Still waiting for a punch to come because that’s what happens to boys who kiss boys.
But… Steve’s hands are still holding onto Eddie’s wrists, keeping them in their place where they cup Steve’s face so gently. When Eddie had leaned in, lips grazing Steve’s, he had felt the other’s tightening grip like a silent prayer, saying come close, stay close. Even now, the grip around Eddie’s wrists holds firm.
Though it’s the last thing he wants, Eddie breaks the kiss. He draws back, savouring the moment — the sweetness of Steve’s lips for what might be the final time — with his eyes shut tight. Did I do it right this time? He thinks, he hopes. Can I kiss you and keep you?
“I’m…” Steve starts, his voice a whisper. Eddie’s eyes open. His fingers flex along Steve’s jaw instinctively. “Really confused.” Steve admits quietly.
His face is reserved. Only slight ripples of anxiety peek through. The crinkle between his brows speaks of his abundance of confusion. Eddie’s eyes drink in every expression and he can’t stop help how his eyes catch back on Steve’s lips. He stares when Steve speaks.
“I thought you— I thought you didn’t want…”
“Didn’t want this?” Eddie echoes, with a tone of incredulity, eyes darting back up to look Steve in the eye. He punctuates the last word with another touch, the pad of his thumb touching Steve’s bottom lip bravely.
Steve shivers. His eyes flutter for a moment, in a way Eddie has come to know means his strange aversion to touch is flaring up but — but Steve’s hands keep Eddie from moving away when he tries. Steve nods slowly.
Eddie swallows — tries to push down the ache to kiss him again. They’re still twisted; Steve still doesn’t get it.
Neither does Eddie though. He can’t even imagine what Steve came over to apologise for. What mental gymnastics he had put himself through to somehow be the one who needs to apologise in this situation.
“Where the fuck,” Eddie breathes softly, with an appalled chuckle, letting Steve know he wasn’t mad. Wasn’t in the slightest bit annoyed, only confused. “Did you get that idea?”
Beneath his hands, Eddie can feel Steve’s cheeks grow hotter. The colour soon follows, a glorious crimson that fills the apples of his cheeks. And sure, fine, okay, sue Eddie if he enjoys the sight a little too much. Steve all flushed in the face, ears definitely warmer than they were a second ago.
Steve starts to stammer. “You— You sounded annoyed when I was leaving.” His brows are nearly touching in the middle, drawn together in concern. “I thought you were regretting—“
Eddie interrupts to clarify, suddenly aware of where they’d gotten so muddled. “I sounded annoyed because you were leaving, Steve. Not…”
Not because you asked for a kiss. Eddie’s throat dries up. He can’t say it aloud, not just yet. The words dance on the tip of his tongue. Eddie doesn’t trust himself not to fumble them.
Even though, Steve’s sudden departure had been due to a genuine misunderstanding, Eddie can’t— he’s not… He’s got to be realistic with himself, just in case. Not say too much too soon.
Steve reads into the silent lull in Eddie’s words and in an instant, his eyes are widening in understanding. Somehow, his cheeks glow even warmer.
“Oh,” Steve says, the word doused in relief, in understanding. “Oh my god—“
The rest of his sentence is lost as a car drives by, tires groaning loudly along the tar road. It serves as a quick reminder of where they are. In public, in such close proximity. Eddie steps back instantly, hands ripping away from Steve as a lick of panic runs up his spine. His eyes track the pale blue car down the road.
They were covered by the van but, still.
“C’mon,” Steve says softly, calling to catch his attention.
The panic wavers wildly for a moment before eventually relenting, Eddie dropping his shoulders as he turns back to Steve. He’s delighted to find Steve is no less red in the face.
Steve clears his throat, “We can call a tow back at yours.”
He gestures to his car, an invitation, with a smile. Eddie’s not even sure he’s meant to say something so reassuring; a mixture of the use of we and the implication Steve would come back home with him. Would come inside.
Eddie can’t help how he ogles at Steve. He’s doing another once-over to make sure Steve isn’t a mirage about to fade. Maybe Eddie had actually crashed his van when the engine spluttered on him and all this was a weird and extremely vivid coma dream.
Except, Steve doesn’t look perfect — not like a dream would.
Eddie can tell from the flatness of his hair, he likely didn’t sleep well. He’s got a tired but kind smile on. It’s shyer than Eddie’s ever seen before.
He’s still wearing that bright green Family Video vest for Christ’s sake — if Eddie was in a coma, he had some serious self-reflection to do if his brain picked this as his dream-Steve fit.
“Yeah,” Eddie says, with a nod and a smile of his own. “Lemme, uh, lemme just grab my stuff.”
Eddie turns to hide his face before Steve can see it grow into a wild frenzied smile, too gleeful to contain. He pops the driver’s side door and scurries around, grabbing all the essentials; cigarettes, lighters, and tapes with actual good music on them.
Steve’s waiting for him, still in the same spot when he slides the door shut. Eddie works the rusted lock to lock it up. No, Eddie thinks gleefully, this is not a dream.
-
Steve is surprised it’s not more awkward.
Not that he wants that— honestly, this sweet in-between phase where Eddie keeps glancing over at him, brown eyes longing and like he was checking if Steve was still there, as he talked on the phone, suited Steve just fine. More than fine.
And yeah, okay, maybe Steve swooned a bit when Eddie started twirling the cord of the phone, so much like a lovey-dovey teenage girl that Steve nearly laughed aloud. He wasn’t sure if Eddie even realised he was doing it. Just leant up against the wall, stealing glances at Steve — his fingers fiddling with the cord til they began looping it over and over.
Steve wouldn’t though— laugh at Eddie, that is. It feels pretty much impossible to do anything except sit with all his giddiness, just knowing that… his feelings for Eddie are mutual.
That Eddie hadn’t regretted the kisses in the slightest. That Eddie had wanted Steve for just as long.
It’s achingly sweet to look back on that first hug Steve had asked for — knowing they had both been toeing the line, trying desperately to keep their pining to themselves. Idiots, Steve scoffs to himself affectionately, they were both idiots.
Rerunning the memory of his hasty exit last night is less of a breezy memory. Steve doesn’t want to think too hard about what malicious ideas Eddie’s brain might have spun up to taunt himself.
He must’ve thought that Steve had left for entirely worse reasons. That the reason Steve hadn’t been able to look at him because he thought Eddie was… that he regretted… Steve shakes his head. None of those thoughts are pretty.
And, more importantly, they were untrue. Steve very much liked those kisses. His only regret that night was leaving the way he did. Honest, Steve would have more kisses if he could.
Something scorches across his heart delightfully because he can have more kisses — he just has to ask.
“Okay, thank you so much,” Eddie says appreciatively into the receiver. He dashes another look over at Steve, an apology in the form of his sorry grimace. He focuses back on the phone. “Yeah, I’ll be in tomorrow to see the damage. Thanks, again.”
He sets the phone back in the cradle and for a moment, Steve can’t see his face. Can’t see any of the nervous contemplation. Eddie finally seems to grasp his courage and spins, fixing Steve with a smile.
“Um,” He says, a nervous chuckle leaking through. Eddie moves closer but he moves all skittish, one of his sneakers catching on nothing. He stumbles just a bit, taking a quick seat on the couch arm beside Steve.
“Wh—“ Eddie starts to say. He huffs another nervous chuckle, one hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “This might be a stupid question but what… now?”
Steve thinks for a moment. He’s considering how to go about this when Eddie blurts out in a hopeful tone— “More kissing?”
There’s an unspoken please. Steve revels in the blush that follows the words.
He smirks up at Eddie, eyes tracing the bloom of pink on his cheeks. “What? On the couch, like I’m some common whore?”
“You seemed to have no problem with it last time, my liege.” Eddie points out dramatically, all with a grin.
“And I have no intention of repeating last time.” Steve counters. Then frowns.
“Well, except for the good part.” He corrects himself. “The first part! Just- Christ, can we go to your room instead, please?”
Eddie’s on his feet in an instant. He brings his hand up to his forehead and gives a salute with enough force to rip his arm off. Then marches down the hall and disappears into his room without waiting for Steve.
Steve thinks the nerves might be getting to him.
He walks the steps he’s walked a hundred times before, crossing into Eddie’s room and pressing the door shut behind him.
Eddie’s sat on the bed, criss-cross apple sauce style. He’s kicked his sneakers off — one’s by Steve’s foot, the other on the other side of the room.
Steve swallows and toes off his own shoes. He approaches the bed, climbing on gingerly and folding his limbs to match Eddie. That familiar swoop of nerves sits oh-so present in the pit of his stomach. Steve tries to think of it as a good thing — it’s good to have something so good that he’s nervous in his excitement.
For a moment, they just sit. Staring at one another. One of Eddie’s fingers is digging into the rips of his jeans, toying with the loose strands. It gives away his restless energy.
Steve waits. He asked last time and he knows — he knows Eddie wants to kiss him. But a small part of him…
“Why is this so hard?” Eddie blurts out all of a sudden. Like before, the words seem like they’ve come out without Eddie realising, but he barrels on. “Shit, I’m so fucking nervous. You make me so nervous, Steve.”
Eddie’s eyes won’t settle. They dart around. Move from Steve’s eyes to his lips, down, to the bed sheet beneath them. Like he still isn’t sure if he’s truly allowed to look. His admission makes Steve sorta wanna roll over and scream into the pillow. In a good way.
“I’m— Me too," Steve admits, a smile curling at his lips. “The- fuck, the way I feel about you honestly scares me shitless.”
Eddie seems to be both chuffed and relieved at his words.
“But I… want to kiss you,” Steve says assuredly. The next sentence he poses as a question, words a little more hesitant. More nervous. “And… and you want to kiss me?”
Across the bed, Eddie grabs a piece of his hair, twisting it nervously as he pulls it to cover his face. His usual nervous tell. Steve can’t help how he breaks into a grin when Eddie nods fervently.
“Cool.” Steve breathes. Then mentally smacks himself for saying cool. He tries to recover but Eddie beats him to it, with a question of his own. “Can I kiss you now?”
Steve answers by shuffling closer, til their knees are touching and then — like beside the road earlier — mimics the touch Eddie had given him.
Hands on either side of Eddie’s face, gentle as they curl under his jaw. Steve can feel the curls of his hair tickling at his fingertips. Another inch forward and he’d be burying his hands in Eddie’s hair. Steve bookmarks that urge for later.
Eddie looks nervous. Steve is undoubtedly making it worse, taking his time like this. But he can’t help it.
He wants to look — wants to stare, wants to devour every detail of Eddie’s face. Commit it to memory so he can picture it with his eyelids closed. What Eddie Munson looks like while waiting for a kiss.
The amount of affection that swells in Steve’s chest hits like a sucker-punch, enough he sucks in a tiny breath. He can see the smallest quiver in Eddie’s lip.
“You gonna stare all day, Harrington?” Eddie teases, but it lacks conviction when the words wobble a bit.
“Just enjoying the view,” Steve remarks, and then, finally, he kisses Eddie.
It’s the floodgate. It’s a frenzy, kiss after kiss after kiss, the softness of them slipping away in lieu of making up for missed time. Steve kisses every apology onto Eddie’s lips and he receives forgiveness a dozen times back. It’s bliss.
Eddie’s a very enthusiastic partner, to say the least. He’s a little messier with his kisses, hands gripping the front of Steve’s shirt tightly, pressing forward in a way that pushes Steve back— but Steve certainly doesn’t mind. He removes his hands from Eddie’s face to lower himself back, elbows against the comforter as Eddie follows eagerly.
For a moment, a sprout of doubt pulls them apart. Eddie hovers, not getting too close. “This is… this is okay?”
Steve grabs him by the collar and tugs him down, meeting him in the middle for another kiss. It’s a fat unanimous yes. Something glows hot in his chest when Eddie smiles into the kiss. Grins even. In fact, he has to take a moment to cheese it out, his face tucked into hiding against the crook of Steve’s neck.
Steve doesn’t mind. His hand strokes idly over Eddie’s hair, twisting in with the curls. He lets him take his time, lets Eddie work back up the nerve to kiss him again, except— with a gasp, Steve squirms at the sudden kiss on his neck, hot and soft.
“I think you were the one overdue for a hickie,” Steve breathes, hands threading through Eddie’s hair gently. He doesn’t pull him away though; lets Eddie figure out the best way to scrape his teeth against Steve’s skin as best he likes.
“Uh huh,” Eddie murmurs, barely heard. He’s too distracted.
“Eddie,” Steve tries, but it comes out far too close to a sigh. He tries again, this time with a proper tug to pull Eddie back from him.
It’s a bit of leftover King Steve the way he manoeuvres the both of them, rolling deftly so it’s Eddie upon his back and Steve hovering above him. Eddie manages to look both impressed and disgruntled at once.
Steve doesn’t let him get a word out. The pale stretch of skin down Eddie’s neck has been calling his name for too long and Steve is hungry for it. He grants Eddie one, two, three more kisses on his lips before he’s moving down.
He’s just getting started, lips pressed to hot skin when it happens. Eddie’s hands move up, skirting barely up and under Steve’s shirt, fingers searching. The unpleasant aversion prickles under Steve’s skin.
He locks up. He’s unable to do anything but; it feels helpless even as he tries to shake it off but he knows, he knows Eddie can feel it as he grows rigid under the touch.
It’s worse when Eddie tries to reel his touch back in. Steve wants to cry with frustration because it’s not Eddie— it’s fucking him.
“Don’t,” Steve pleads, his hand diving down to catch Eddie’s wrist and holding it there. He knows Eddie’s watching him closely, even as Steve’s eyes scrunch shut and he fights to fend off the uncomfortable feeling attempting to make home under his skin.
“It’s…” Steve wills himself to look Eddie in the eye, hoping the sincerity bleeds through his words. “It’s not you, Eds. Just— fuck, just… give me a second, okay?”
He releases Eddie’s wrist. Eddie nods, a minuscule motion. His brown eyes are watching Steve closely, darting all over his face wildly and after a moment, they still on his lips. Eddie makes a decision and pushes forward, planting a tender kiss on the corner of Steve’s mouth.
“S’okay,” He assures. Then gives Steve another kiss, this time on the lips, slow and sweet. Steve drinks it in, tries to savour the feeling of being kissed by someone who wants him. Wants him in every way they can have him. It's maddening.
Eddie’s hand moves an inch cautiously, testing the waters as his fingertips trace the skin of Steve’s tummy. He doesn’t flinch when Steve stiffens up again.
Like he can sense the frustration building up in the other boy, he captures Steve’s lips with his gently. Whispers against them again as soothingly as he can. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
It’s like the words run across the raised hackles of Steve’s soul, soothing and seeping out the tension from every muscle. Steve can feel himself relax under the words. Feels something inside him wobble and then tip over, finally soothed, finally settled.
This time when Eddie’s hand grazes along his waist, Steve shivers in a good way— and leans in closer, kissing back. His hands clutch back at Eddie’s hair, raking through to grip it sweetly. He tugs, jerking Eddie’s chin up and exposing his throat.
“Can I…” Steve begins. It’s a tease.
“Shut up,” Eddie grinds out, hands fixed on Steve’s waist. Now he knows he can touch, that Steve isn’t tensing up or flinching away, his hands are rabid. Hungry. They crawl across the skin, leaving hot scorch marks behind that tingle delightfully. “This hickie is so overdue.”
Steve grins wolfishly.
Eddie’s neck is a thorough shade of violet by the time he’s done, chest heaving. He looks devilishly handsome when Steve pulls back to admire his work and he barely gets a moment before Eddie’s back on him, lips hot against Steve’s own.
“My go.”
This time when Steve’s getting ready to leave, he half-heartedly pulls on his shoes. It’s a pitiful attempt to slow down the inevitable. He can’t believe leaving is harder this time; maybe it’s more to do with the hickies adoring his own neck and collarbones.
“Hey, I-“ Steve starts, already feeling flush in the face. Eddie’s watching him pack his stuff up, still pink in the face, but so evidently content with himself. He’s laid back on the bed, arms crossed behind his head. He’s showing off the dark lovebites on his skin, neck craned proudly.
“Mm?” Eddie hums, a cheeky smile on his face.
“When I— Robin.” Steve says, flashing a hand to his neck. “She’s- she’s probably gonna ask.”
Steve swallows. He somehow gets the feeling Eddie already knows what he’s going to ask — that he’s waiting for him to say it. Eddie’s grin says as much.
“And when she does, I—“ Steve continues, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. The kisses on it tingle beneath his own touch. “Can I… call you my boyfriend?”
Eddie glows. It’s the only word for the excited laugh that punches out of him, like a gleeful goblin.
Steve thinks he might just be falling all over again when Eddie rolls over and buries his face in his pillow. He pretends for Eddie’s sake not to hear his muffled shout that’s almost a squeal. His cheeks are ruby red by the time he sticks his face back out, his grin so wide it makes his eyes crinkle in the corner.
“Yes,” Eddie says, voice giddy. “Yes, please.”
And Steve’s so fucking glad he asked for that stupid hug way back when, because got a gremlin-level of affectionate boyfriend now to show for it.
-
and that's likely a wrap on the can i series for now ! i had an inkling of an idea for future but tbh i wasn't supposed to write this i like have 7 other fics callin my name. but alas! thank u so very much for the love on this, whether sending kisses to my touch starved self or talking bout needing a hug too in the tags <3 hopefully this heals all the right places <3 mwah my loves
tags below:
@original-cypher @maya-custodios-dionach @uwujinniee @attic-cat-blog @immortal-iratze @anaibis @orangeandthefairroadkill @etaka @silversnaffles @invisibleflame812 @eddie-hero-munson @jesskier @princess-eddie @impeachy @estrellami-1 @bloomingconflagration @newtstabber @iwouldsail @sundead @darksmistress @sydstroons @leethegay @superchellerific @eddielives1986 @jinxjinn @breealtair @steddieassheg0es @loopholesinmydreams @savory-babby @alittlegreyfish @izzy2210 @em9515 @killjoy-patrixtump @mrspasser @spectrum-spectre
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Yjh things the Webtoon 'forgot' to mention or to point out bc they hate novel yjh
Warning for vague webtoon spoilers ig?? No spoilery names are named and no unreleased scenarios are mentioned/specified btw but I thought I'd add this warning just in case :)
He waited three days on the bridge for kdj to resurface after he dropped him in the Ichytosaurs mouth. Just. Waited there.
He smiles when Kdj tries his food and says it's good (it's more like a tiny smug smile tbh)
He is a WORRIER. Man worries about everything, but sucks at expressing it through actions bc that's when he's most easily misunderstood. It is EXTREMELY easy to misunderstand his actions unless the other characters ask him what he's doing and why [after he explains, he turns out to be actually really thoughtful tbh]
When he tells 41st round shin yoosung to "quit her blabbering"...he wasn't that harsh in the novel. The line was changed (still don't know why) but originally he said something about not having enough time, and wasn't a complete asshole.
Also during that same arc/scene it was revealed that he woke her up because he genuinely didn't think she'd attack him/be mad at him iirc, so it wasn't him being stupid, just somewhat naive
When Iris called KDJ ugly he actually stepped forward and intimidated her by glaring so she'd stop talking :) because he sensed fighting spirit in her and he decided to react lmao
His eyebrow moves similarly to a caterpillar when he's about to make an important decision (note: kdj points this out in the novel because he's always staring at yjh I swear to god there's proof)
Yjh puts on a 'cool' face when he's been caught or called out after trying to be sneaky (he's SO BAD at being sneaky istg I love this man so much)
He sometimes uses his skills for stupid and petty shit *said lovingly with heart eyes*
He's more likely to give someone/an NPC a quick death than to make them suffer until they die
He always goes along with KDJ's plans, even though Kdj barely tells him ANYTHING about them ever 😭 He glares but still goes along with them I NEED Y'ALL TO UNDERSTAND HOW IMPORTANT THIS IS- /lh
He drags his sword on the ground when he's happy/satisfied with something, or generally in a good mood. Also Loves to clean his sword (I think the webtoon added a scene of him cleaning the sword like. once)
He loves his sister more than anything (we haven't seen a lot of scenes with yoo mia AND yjh in the webtoon yet but I have high expectations for those knowing how much he adores her in the novel)
Mans RUNS to help every time kdj is in danger, unless he genuinely thinks kdj 1) can handle the situation himself or 2) deserves the punishment
He has MONOLOGUES in his head even though he only ever says like two sentences thakrhsjfjb, and is very eloquent when given the chance to explain his thought process/reasoning
[which kdj rarely lets him do. bc he's hellbent on doing the talking and most other characters don't expect yjh to talk anyway]
The hand holding scene that was turned into a weird wrist holding scene? Yes originally they held hands (he wasn't as angry then either)
He's a serial texter and will spam message people
He loves dumplings
He gets jealous when other people monopolize Dokja's attention for too long (also canon, ex: Sangah, [redacted 1], sometimes han sooyoung, [redacted 2], [redacted 3] 💀 and WILL glare at Kdj or demand answers depending on how severe the transgression is)
He's tired. So, so tired.
HE CAN LAUGH
he doesn't let Han Sooyoung live out of pride/not wanting to lose to kdj (???? what even was that). he lets her live because he doesn't want kdj to think poorly of him / alternatively he doesn't want to lose him as an ally. Not everything is about pride with him 🫠
he looks embarrassed after hearing yoo mia tell him he looks "happy when you talk about [kdj]". the narration also gives her statement some credibility, because "she knows him well since she's his sister". but of course they made him look angry instead of embarrassed 🙄 bc god forbid he shows any other facial expression ever
He's nosy (again: said lovingly with heart eyes). You'll notice how even when he pretends not to care, he'll still stick around to see how things develop/gather info on 'important' stuff. If he's not interested, he'll just leave, bc he's the kind of guy to just do that. So if he doesn't leave, even if he's pretending not to care... you see where I'm going with this
He has a sense of humor, believe it or not (though most of the time he's hilarious without meaning to)
When [redacted] asked yoo joonghyuk what his deal was with kdj and why he wanted him in his group he said "kdj is necessary for this world. I need him." but webtoon decided to skip that line 🫠
Yjh says "I guess your mother doesn't like me" instead of this "like mother like son" bullshit, because the second one implies dokja doesn't like him. which couldn't be farther from the truth
I'd add more but the rest is spoilers fhajhrjeka so yeah I'll just wait to see what webtoon does first and I'll update this as they go
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Death At The Hands Of A God Pt. 2
Warnings: general sagau, imposter au, light descriptions of violence/gore, you're resurrected after being killed (by Venti), not really angst but not really comfort or fluff either
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Death was not as dark or empty as you had come to expect...
Was this death? Or maybe something in between—
Yes, that seemed like a better way to describe what you were experiencing, something in between real and unreal, existence and nothingness.
You couldn't think, see, feel, anything, as if you were simply a disembodied form of consciousness, waiting.
For what?
You didn't possess that answer, nor the ability to even contemplate the question. If you had the ability to think, you would have wondered briefly if this was what the characters you played as experienced when falling in battle, a void detached from both time and space.
This state of mere existence didn't last long, or, perhaps, it did. Perhaps it lasted many lifetimes, eons upon eons. It's not as if you would have recognized the difference, no different than how time passed when asleep.
You were pulled passively away, out of that void which welcomed you so, called for you, urged you to stay in its own impartial way. A call you didn't have the ability to respond to, as it simply wasn't your choice.
When you opened your eyes again you were met with something unfamiliar, the only hint of recollection stemming from a strong sense of déjà vu and nothing more.
It took you a moment to regain a sense of thought, of consciousness, remember that you were, in fact, an organic being even capable of having thoughts.
You blinked gently, taking in the scene before you, the soft breeze and wide planes spanning on for miles, the sparsely scattered trees, and the brief reflection of a river. You recognized it, in a way, and something in the back of your mind screamed that you were in danger, as if your subconscious knew of what your conscious self was trying so hard to remember.
It took but a second to move your head downward, your eyes finding themselves looking upon a kneeling form that seemed rather unaware of your presence, despite being directly beneath you. It took another moment for your brain to process what exactly you were seeing and why you felt so stricken with terror.
Oh.
Oh god.
As if having the air forcibly removed from your lungs, you felt the world around you collapse, instinctually bringing your hands up to your own throat where you last remembered feeling anything at all.
The sharp inhale is what caught his attention, what caused the previously silent archon, you had come to recognize as no other than your murderer, to raise his head in an unsure movement of fear and hope.
It was you, oh god, it was you.
The weight of every conceivable emotion that tangibly existed ran through his body, only an underlying inkling of self-restraint stopped him from lunging at your feet. He had been praying to you before your sudden appearance, begging for forgiveness, and what else could this be?
It had been only a month since your "passing", and Venti found himself engaging in ritualistic prayer every day since. It was the only thing that kept him sane with his past actions weighing on him constantly, a way to remind himself that you were still alive in spirit. While your mortal shell may be gone, the essence of the almighty creator would forever linger. It was only during these moments of prayer that Venti felt any semblance of the freedom he lost, the freedom he mourned, so he could pretend, if only for a moment, that everything was no different than how it was before that night.
The month had been the purest form of heavenly torture, and no amount of alcohol or sleep could distract him long enough to even pretend that all was well. His presence all but disappeared from the face of Teyvat, as he simply spent more time staring at one of your many shrines than breathing most days. The death of the creator, the murderer of an eternal god, a curse he alone had to bear the knowledge of.
His restraint broke quickly as you seemed to stumble backwards, creating more distance between the two of you than he was comfortable with.
"Your grace."
Felling your title on his tongue, feeling how it passed through his lips, he dreamed nightly of this moment, when he was able to dream of anything other than you so gracefully falling and the golden essence that seeped from your form where his arrow pierced it.
"You."
His heart fell, dropped down into his stomach, and shattered.
"You grace I—, I..."
Despite his seemingly endless internal thesaurus, the bards' mind drew a blank on what to say next.
What could be said? Was this not forgiveness? Was it not your will to grace him again with your presence after an agonizing month alone?
He didn't know you, not really, not personally. All he could attribute you to was the subtle feeling in the back of his mind, the strange whisper helping to guide his choices, the feeling of being watched over, before his mistake that is.
He knew of your legend, too. All the thousands of songs composed in your honor by heart, the unrelenting chattering of people carried by the wind when your name graced their lips. Every short story and unprovable myth about your existence prior, your power of creation and how you passed that power down to the mortals you created.
He knew the idea of you, no different than how his people knew the idea of Barbatos, though never truly him. Yet, as he looked upon you, past the fear, past your human vessel, there was a sense of deep familiarity that rang out and flooded his senses. A feeling that made him want nothing more than to simply know you, know everything unspoken and hidden beneath the layers of divinity, stay with you always and cherish every new piece of information, no matter how miniscule.
You glanced quickly to the left, thinking very carefully about simply making a run for it, wondering how much time you'd have before he could draw his bow and why he hadn't done so yet. Your body froze slightly at the thought, flashes of your prior life running through your mind and the unbridled fear they brought.
Venti seemed to pick up on your train of thought and couldn't stop himself from jumping into action at even the notion of more space being forced between you.
"I'm so so so sorry. I know I can't begin to repent, but please. I took care of the offender! You don't have to worry about them now—"
While rambling, Venti was inching ever closer to where you stood, trying to get close enough to safely grab on to any part of you and never let go. If he could just touch you, just secure the fact in his mind that you were alive.
Your mind was spinning with all the information, still not working at full capacity, muddled and hazy.
"Offender?" Was all you managed to choke out, wondering briefly if he was referring to your past life.
His face paled slightly at your tone. Did you really, truly not know the reason he was forced to—?
"The one in your throne, the one who took your place... The one who— who ordered your... death."
It hurt him to say the word, physically pained him, as if it was a blade caught in his throat, a harsh reminder of his transgressions.
"I— what?"
Venti had made it close enough to wrap his arms around your legs, clinging on for dear life as he reviled in feeling you, prepared to take any blows from your hand if only to stay there, it wasn't as if he didn't deserve it, and it would be blasphemy to deny anything you were gracious enough to give him.
You jumped at the sudden contact, but it was obvious he meant you no harm, though, that fact was particularly hard to convince your mind as it screamed at you to run away from the offender.
For a brief moment, the Venti you knew flashed in your mind as you felt his hands gripping the fabric of your clothes, clouded your vision with how often you used to admire him, back when this was all nothing more than a game. Just a simple game. The concept felt so foreign now.
You shifted your weight slightly and felt him hold on tighter. It took you a moment to realize he was crying, silent tears adorning his soft features.
What could you do? Was it even humanly possible to forgive something of this nature? Had any other being ever been faced with making this choice?
You had to clear your mind, ignore everything around you and focus on what you now knew. This was real, you were some figure of importance— or at the very least looked similar to one, and your death was ordered by someone who had control of even the gods of this world.
You looked down again at him, how he looked so desperate and utterly heartbroken, how he really believed himself to be the bearer of the ultimate transgression.
Without thinking, you moved your hand to his face, brushing your fingertips against the flushed skin, damp with tears. His eyes opened at your touch as he looked up at you, his hands moving from around your leg to your hand, grasping it tight as he held it to his face. This was certainly an odd form of comfort, if it could even be called that, but any touch from you was nothing but divine bliss for him.
Venti mumbled things against your skin now as he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing again, as if in prayer. He spoke breathy promises of love, devotion, and repentance, of an infinity without pain or sorrow under his watch, how he'd spend his entire immortal life by your side if you'd allow it, making up for his grave sin.
The few words you caught only led to a growing concern. This wasn't the carefree and playful bard you knew, nor was it the caring but serious god who loved his nation, this was something else entirely, something desperate and zealous, something dangerous...
You started to wonder how long it would take for you to regret your inevitable resurrection when faced with an immortal god who would not live to see you part from him again…
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