summary — varka's love is almost too much for you to handle.
themes — librarian!reader, semi-public sex, inexperienced!reader, developing relationship, standing full nelson position, struggling to fit him in, creampie, orgasms, varka calls ya pumpkin, praise
WC: 1.1k
This was not how you were supposed to tend to the Mond Library in Lisa’s absence.
Plap!
Tears steamed down your cheeks as your nails scratched against the muscled forearms folding you in half. Head cradled in his hands, feet dangling in the air, you whimpered as the Grand Master held you suspended, his hips slapping into yours. With another rough thrust, one of your shoes fell off your feet, clattering against the wood floor with a loud thump. Varka’s breath was hot on your ear, the smell of smoked meat and booze wafting over you with each exhale. As he rammed himself into you, you dug your teeth into your trembling lower lip and cried.
“Shh, shh…” Varka said, kissing your temple. “You’re okay, pumpkin.”
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one being held midair, getting split open on the girth of his cock. To make matters worse, you were still operating under business hours. At any moment, anyone could wander into the library looking for a book, only to wind up finding you, getting your cunt destroyed by Grand Master Varka. You tried to stifle your moans, but when he stuffed you full of him for the umpteenth time, stretching you beyond what you thought yourself capable, you gasped out, “Fuck.”
“Shh, shh, shh,” he whispered. “Not so loud, pumpkin. You’re doing…” He grunted, thrusting his dick into you, making you see stars. “You’re doing great, hon.”
You clawed at the hands supporting your head, your vision blurred with hot tears. Petulantly, you whined, “Grand Master, you’re…too big…”
“You can do it, hon,” he whispered back hotly. “I know you can.”
“Oh, fuck,” you sobbed, feeling your insides throb when his tip mashed into your cervix. “Grand Master, please. Not so deep.”
“I’m sorry,” he answered immediately, his voice coming out rushed. In another soothing whisper, he said, “Shh, pumpkin, shh. I’m sorry.”
His hips didn’t thrust so deep anymore. You felt like you could finally breathe.
“I got carried away,” he murmured. “Your pussy’s so tight, hon. Feels so good for me.”
Those words were strangling you.
“You’ve gotten so good at this,” he told you. “So much better than when we first started. Hold on for me a little longer, yeah?”
He was right. The first time Grand Master Varka revealed to you that he had interest beyond what you had originally thought, you were flabbergasted. It wasn’t that you didn’t find him attractive—no, it was quite the opposite—but your whole life, you had only seen Varka as a role model. An ideal, really. Not as a man, and certainly not as one who would fill you to the brim with him every night that you allowed him to. Your first time was awkward, a bit painful, but Varka held you through it. Always gave you kisses and praise, even when you could barely handle the motion of his tip alone. You wanted to be able to take all of him, to let him use you as he saw fit, but unlike him, you were far too limited by pain. It frustrated you, to have taken him this many times and still be struggling. But Varka told you best—your rate of improvement was truly astounding. Even to yourself.
“All good, sweetheart?”
You looked downwards, your eyes catching the movement of his thick cock, glistening with you as it thrust halfway in and out of your hole. Chewing your lower lip, you nodded.
He let out a grunt, his fingers squeezing harder around your head. Something rough grated his tone when he asked, “Is it okay if I cum inside?”
“Yes,” you whined. “Yes, Grand Master, yes.”
“Mngh, just…just call me Varka, pumpkin.”
You let out a choked sound when he snapped his hips upwards, and even though it was only half of him, you felt so incredibly full. Tears streamed down your face as you gasped and sputtered for breath, nails digging into his wrists as you wailed, “Grand Master.”
“Varka,” he answered, his tone far more brusque than usual. Something about him sounded feral when he growled, “Call me Varka.”
Another rough thrust of his hips into yours had you squirming. “Oh, fuck,” you sputtered, your eyelids fluttering to the beat of your uncontrollable heart. “Varka.”
When his dick pushed past that halfway point of his, shoving its way into your innermost walls with its violent ram, your nails pierced the skin of his hands. Crying for him, you scratched away at his skin, leaving deep gashes that left him marred with your love. Varka was shushing you again, his hips were thrusting deep again, and as you whined his name, you were overwhelmed by the force of your own orgasm. You felt hot, you felt blind, and as Varka pumped you full of him, you let the intensity of your voice rip through the silent library.
“Varka,” you were crying. “Varka.”
“Fuck,” he whispered back. “Here you go, pumpkin.”
His base was flush to yours, resounding through the library with a wet smack! You struggled in his arms, your eyes twitching as discomfort and pleasure weaved themselves equally throughout your insides. Letting him cum this deep inside of you was surely a recipe for disaster, but the feel of his cock throbbing within you only led you to your second slope.
“Varka,” you slurred, your eyes blurred by your tears. “I’m cumming again.”
“Oh, yeah? That’s good, pumpkin.”
He held you in place, even after his limp cock fell out of you. You felt the trickle of his cum as it dripped from your hole, your teary eyes pressing shut as a second orgasm wracked through you. Something about doing it like this, him watching without even being inside you, was both embarrassing and enthralling.
“Good job, pumpkin,” Varka murmured. “I’ll put you down, okay?”
Breath shuddering, you nodded. Ever so gently, Varka maneuvered his intense hold on you until your feet were on the floor. He held one of your hands while he reached for your fallen heel, sliding it back onto your foot for you.
When Varka stood back to his full height, he cupped your face in his hands. He leaned down, closing the distance between you, and gave you a firm kiss. Your hands rose to his wrists, gripping them hard as you whimpered against him. He lavished your tear-stained face with booze-scented kisses, and in his deep, rumbling voice asked, “Wanna go home?”
You nodded, your arms looping around his broad waist. Your legs trembled beneath you, rendered so by the way he had pinned you midair and the intensity of how he had fucked you. Quietly, you replied, “You might have to carry me.”
Varka laughed.
“Sure thing, pumpkin. I’ve got ya.”
a/n: to anyone who regularly reads my lohen works, just know that im currenlty running for my life from that man. yes i wrote varka fuckin you in the library before him IM SORRY LOHEN but he gets more than enough smut from me T_T anyway, i wanted to show varka some love cause he's SEXY AF and i need more of him.
anyway, if you liked it what you read, please consider leaving a heart! (˶>⩊<˶) ♡ reblogs and comments appreciated!
if you would like to be tagged whenever i post genshin x reader, please check my rules in my pinned! thank you!
mondstadt is filled with more life and joy than ever before with the return of the grand master and the expedition knights, echoes of laughter and drunken tales trickling into every crevice of the city. but in the dead of the night, it is only you who knows the extent of what he has endured, and it is only you whom he trusts to show the barest and most vulnerable parts of himself.
CONTAINS : gn!reader, 4.7k wc, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship (married), nightmares, death & mentions of death, brief(?) descriptions blood, spoilers for varka's story quest, takes place after his story quest when the expedition returns, varka needs a hug ;w; a nice warm and tight hug ;w; you need a hug too ;w; it's okay, you hug each other :3 yearner varka as always
A/N : inspired by this this fan comic that desecrated my solar plexus and rendered me unable to comprehend anything even now, a week later, and u should definitely check it out... haha... but i also thought it would be interesting to explore the more ptsd side of things bc his quest definitely... yeah...
The City of Freedom has always stayed true to its moniker.
The breeze blows in whichever way it wishes; the people are able to choose their own path; the adults are free to choose how they spend their day; the children run around and follow wherever it is their heart leads; the animals roam the streets regardless of who or what lurks in the shadows; the city walls welcomes whoever steps foot into its domain.
The City of Freedom has always stayed true to its moniker. While it wasn’t always quite so peaceful — quite so free and left to the will of its people — it has been a prominent aspect throughout recent times. From two thousand years ago to now, peace and freedom has found its home within Mondstadt; even more so during the recent years where the citizens have slowly begun to forget what times of turmoil and strife are like.
Such as now.
The city’s streets are alight, fluorescent yellows trickling from high windows and streetlamps giving way to their chosen placements. Voices echo within the late-night streets, their sounds muted behind warmed tavern walls and the frequent strum of a bard’s lyre before they delve into their song of poetry for the awaiting audience, clinking glass and the occasional tone of a bartender asking what the tavern-goer would like to drink for the night, roaring laughter and the fall of a chair or bang of something hitting the table a fine accompaniment to the noise like practised song.
It is late at night, or perhaps early in the morning, yet the City of Wine and Song rarely rests. Not for long, anyway, and certainly not when they are still celebrating the successful return of the expeditionary forces they have been awaiting for the last six years.
And yet, in a tucked away corner of the city where the shadows just barely settle over the architecture, peaceful nights have been somewhat of a luxury.
You lay there under the covers, peaceful and tucked into a deep slumber, soft breaths escaping parted lips as you remain nestled beneath the cocooning warmth. Beside you lies a large, scarred body tossing and turning, heaving and writhing beneath the rumpled side of the sheets. Cold sweat clings to his skin, brows furrowed into a deep point and fists clenched tight around the edge of the blanket settled over his heart. His breath comes out in uneven gasps, a disharmonious sound in comparison to your calm state.
The Grand Master shifts again. His body begins to curl in on itself, grip wrinkling the sheets even further, a pained grimace etched into his paling expression.
He remembers. He remembers the loud beat of his heart ringing through his ears, that all-consuming sensation familiar throughout the length of his journey yet never something he could become accustomed to. He remembers his last moments suspended in the air, telling the golden-haired hero and Honorary Knight of Mondstadt the rest of that whispered plan was up to them before the Abyssal Roland in a spirit of Boreas snapped its maw around him and darkness swallowed him whole. He remembers that phantom pain, how it tore its teeth through his torso for a fleeting moment before he reawakened in that space in perfect condition as though he was never maimed in his final moments. He remembers that sense of displacement, like something was horribly wrong despite being perfectly fine. He remembers…
…What happened after that?
Head swivelling, he now finds himself surrounded by thick fog. He cannot hear, nor can he see anything, but he is vaguely aware that he is still in the dream. There is nothing in this space he is trapped in, yet his body remains on high alert; as if danger lurks within the fog, within the realm he cannot perceive. Foreboding is the chill which runs down his spine, a warning from somewhere deep within his mind that something is there; that something is watching him.
But then he hears it — a deafening, ba-thump. It rattles his brain, fogs his mind even further, blurs his vision until spotted dots fade in and out of focus, numbs all his senses like cotton is stuffed in his ears and only serves to heighten the phantom pain which courses through his torso. When he looks down, he sees crimson. His left side is drenched in the colour, his trembling right hand only splotched with it in comparison. Was blood always this red? This vivid? So lifelike, so real, so violent in its likeness? Was this warmth amid the dreadful cold always so apparent?
Did this part of the dream always go like this…?
When he looks up again, numbly forcing himself to tear his gaze away from the sight of his body half devoured, the abyss stares back at him in the form of two familiar wispy eyes glowing in the same colour as that of which drips from his body.
He remembers. He remembers that wide, awaiting maw closing in on him like time slowed down just so he would be forced to relive every racing thought, every regret and what-if during his last moments. Darkness encroaches. Rooted in place, all he can see are sharpened teeth dripping with saliva and the eternal darkness which lies beyond the bone. It draws closer, his heart rings louder in his ears and throbs in his head — louder, and louder, and louder, and louder, and—
He shoots up, gasping and heaving, right hand instinctively shooting towards his left side; his body is intact. The ache in his body, his heart however, has magnified. Limbs numb and heavy, like lead has replaced the marrow in his bones, he sits there amid the streaks of moonlight. Damp sheets pool at his hips as a chill seeps into his sweat-ridden body, eyes wide and roving as if trying to take in anything and everything he possibly can.
It’s silent. There is a slight discrepancy in his surroundings — like something is not entirely right, yet he cannot quite place his finger on it. Where is he? Recognition faintly flits through his mind as he tries to blink away the throb in his head, but nothing immediately springs to mind. Was there always a wardrobe in that space? Was he always on a bed? Did his surroundings always seem so homely?
No… he does not think so. That cruel, unforgiving nightmare would never give him a reprieve such as this. Something is wrong still, but what?
And then it quietly clicks within his brain: his heart. Why is it not beating? Why can he not hear nor feel the thumps of the very organ which sustains his life? Dread crawls into his ribs and grips down, cold and unrelenting.
His heart…
“Varka…?”
His heart… His heart.
“Varka.”
His heart, his heart, his heart, his heart—
“Varka!”
His breath hitches. Warmth encases his hands and cradles them with a gentleness that never once existed in that memory. The adrenaline wears down, only slightly, but it is enough for him to have a clear grasp on his surroundings.
Varka blinks once, twice, a third time; he sees you. You were never present in those horrid recollections. No, you were always there to pull him out of it, out of that post-nightmare trance he has been finding himself caught in every time.
You let out a breath, shoulders sagging from their tense posture as your gaze softens. Your eyes are so clear, Varka manages to think within his bleary senses, your fingers rubbing repetitive circles against his knuckles a grounding warmth.
“It’s okay,” you reassure. Your voice is a soft and familiar lull as you raise a hand, guiding his head to rest against your chest. “You’re okay now.”
His ears pick up a faint sound.
Ba-thump. Ba-thump. Ba-thump.
Your heart, he thinks. Your alive and beating heart. It thumps in a steady rhythm, only slightly quickened from the scare he most likely gave you. Its rhythm reaches him, slowing down the erratic beats of his own heart in order to match yours and beat together in tandem.
“Sorry,” he manages to mumble out, voice slowly coming back to him but still hoarse. “Didn’t mean to wake you. You can go back to bed, I’ll be alright. I know your sleep’s been disrupted ever since I came back, but you don’t need to worry. It’s something I can handle, so—”
“Varka,” you call his name again in that soft and patient tone despite the sleep he can see clinging onto you, effectively stopping his escalating rambles. Guilt pervades into every inch of his being upon the realisation, even more so when you smile like you’re reassuring him that everything will be okay.
He hasn’t been deserving of your patience these past nights ever since his return; he certainly does not think you expected your husband to have finally come home, only to wake up every night since in cold sweat and tremors. But it is you — you and your unending patience and understanding for him during the worst of nights, even when you end up spending the rest of it awake to make sure he is fine from the claws of something far beyond your imagination.
And that alone undoes something tightly coiled within him.
“Don’t apologise for something like this. These nightmares are out of your control, and you don’t choose to have them every night. But do you know?” Your voice shifts. The patient tone addled with sleep makes way for something softer, something warm and wholly you which clears the fuzziness clogging his senses like stuffed cotton. “You’re home now, Varka. You can relax now. You don’t have to fight it anymore; not with me.”
The effect is practically immediate.
He clings to you, burying himself further into your warmth — into your vitality. Shaking arms wind around your midriff and trembling fingers dig into the back of his shirt swallowing your body. Body folding over you, eyes squeezing shut, nose buried into the crook of your neck and surrounding himself in everything that you are, he vaguely senses the trembling to have begun stabilising.
“You’re alive,” you whisper, lips a gentle caress atop the crown of his head. One of your hands drift up the nape his neck and begin slowly threading your fingers through the dampened tufts of his hair, while the other rubs soothing circles against his bare back covered in a sheen of lingering beads of cold sweat. “You’re alive. You’re here. In Mondstadt. With the knights, with the people of our home, and with me. You are alive and well. You are safe now, Varka. Nothing from that expedition can hurt you again.”
Something within his heart shakes violently.
Right. That’s right. He is back in Mondstadt now. He is no longer in Nod-Krai, no longer on that six-year-long expedition. The soul of a god, of Andrius, no longer weighs heavy in his heart, slowly devouring the very organ which beats right now alongside your own steady beats, and no longer does it slowly sap away the energy in his body and bear upon his shoulders the burden of a god’s soul as he fights for a safer tomorrow. He is not in need of any contingency plans in case things go awry (in case he were to fall and never return).
No. Varka is not there anymore. He is in Mondstadt. He and the expeditionary forces have returned back home to everyone. He is back home… He is back with you; in your arms, in your embrace, in your ever-so familiar warmth he dreamt about with increasing longing for every night he spent away from you.
With that comfort, he finally manages to breathe — the air returns to his lungs a little easier, the taut muscles loosen under your grounding touch, the numbing sensation subsides as your warmth seeps into his very being.
Varka loves you. He truly does, and he knows he will love you until the end of time and even beyond that. He has seen all your highs and lows, during your best and your worst, just as you have with him. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say he knows you like the back of his hand, because even that comparison could never begin to touch the surface of everything you have both been through to know the other so intimately.
So when he feels the trembling come not from him, but from you tucked in his embrace, something in his heart cracks. It is he who made you cry — he who made you shake and glossy-eyed and bite your lip trying your best to hold it in and resist looking up at him in your current state.
“I know… I know you sometimes sneak out when you think I’m asleep. I don’t know where, maybe to go to Boreas to fight it out of your system like you tend to do when something troubles you, maybe to have a late night drink to chase away those thoughts, maybe to take a walk and get away for a little bit by yourself, but…” There is a slight pause, a hitch in your voice, before your arms tighten around him and your face buries further into his neck. “But I still worry that when you leave, you might never come back; that you returning was all just something I made up to cope with the weight of your absence. I… I never got used to it, the lack of you in everything. I thought I would become more accustomed to it as time went on, but… I never did. It only seemed to worsen, if anything.”
You laugh a little, a humourless chuckle as you recount your days and nights and endless time here in Mondstadt, wondering when next you would hear news of the expedition. Varka’s jaw clenches at the thought, at the now very real possibility of you losing sleep in worry about whether or not he and the expeditionary forces were safe.
The momentary laugh falls into silence. Nothing emerges for a long, few seconds. You don’t say anything, and he follows suit, waiting patiently for you to finish your piece because he knows something else is on your mind.
Eventually, you suck in a shaky breath and Varka strains his ears to hear even the slightest of sounds you produce.
“Sometimes, you have this expression,” you begin. “Like… like you’re gazing into something far beyond here— something I can’t even begin to imagine. I.. I don’t know what you faced in the last six years, I don’t even know what you’re forced to see in your dreams because I’m worried bringing it up will make you relive the very thing you’re trying to keep me from knowing. And— and I don’t mind that you’re not telling me the full extent of it when it’s causing you so much pain as it is, but I… I guess I just… want you to feel like you can lean on me a little more during these times.”
Varka feels like the biggest fool in all of Teyvat. He’s so stunned, he doesn’t even know where to begin. To think, not onlydid he make you cry when he vowed to never be the reason of your tears (in a negative way, of course), but he also made you feel as though he doesn’t trust you enough with his troubles — which is far from the truth! Varka would entrust his life into your hands within a heartbeat if he could!
He thinks about the times he would sneak out when you were asleep (only to find out just now that you, in fact, were notasleep…), how he would gaze at you apologetically and press a lingering kiss to your head before leaving. His destination was often to that of Boreas, to spar his lingering worries away just as you had predicted. He didn’t want to burden you any further with his baggage, with the weight he carried in the aftermath of it all. And so he dealt with it in the way he was most accustomed to. Boreas had sensed something to be troubling him the first night he requested a duel, making his own guesses that hit a little too close considering he was well in the know about his Abyssified counterpart. The wolf spirit offers comfort in his own way — through wise words spoken from millennia of experience and quiet acts of comfort.
Sometimes on his way back, Venti would catch sight of him and beckon him over for a chat over drinks in the late night — yet another thing he did that you guessed right... In those instances it was nigh impossible to refuse, and so he would share a few drinks with the Archon who also knew the inner turmoil deep in his heart a little too well. Sometimes the drinks would work, and he would be happily warm and tipsy with little thought about those crimson eyes and fanged maw which plagues his slumber, but it usually doesn’t last. Not when he goes one drink more and then ends up ruminating over the events — what led to them, what could have gone differently, and what could have been to the bard clad in green.
But to explain it all to you, how he really did die and might have not even been able to return from the Ley Lines in the worst case scenario… Varka doesn’t even want to imagine how that conversation could turn out; not from wanting to withhold anything from you, but from the sheer guilt that eats away at him that, in another world where the worst case scenario came true, you would be left alone with word of his death being the last thing you ever received from him.
No, he could never do that to you. Just the mere thought of it has him misty-eyed with his nose stinging, and he is for once glad you still refuse to look at him to save your own face so you don’t see his rising emotions once more.
Unfortunately, you seem to take the silence from his excessive thoughts negatively, sniffling as you quickly add, “Ah— forget it. I don’t know what I’m talking about, haha…”
…Scrap that. To hell if he starts bawling his eyes out in front of you because of a misunderstanding! You have comforted him more than you know, and now it is his turn to repay your love in kind.
He calls your name in a gentle tone, the remnants of his emotions from the nightmare and your feelings still lingering despite having calmed down. “Look at me.”
You don’t budge.
He tries again, “My love?”
Your hands twitch; the corners of his lips tugs upward.
“My sweetest darling?”
Your arms tighten, and he knows he has you then.
“My lovely, beautiful, amazing, kind, caring, kind of scary, but definitely love of my life and other half—”
He cuts himself off when giggles are muffled against his skin, wet and teary but undoubtedly still yours, shoulders shaking in tandem under his hands. Shoulders sagging from the tension which had built up at the face of your distress, he sighs softly and allows a smile to lift his lips — it’s a little wobbly from his glassy eyes, and not quite his typical toothy grin, but one which softens and crinkles the corners of his eyes and comes to him as easy as breathing and loving you comes; one only reserved for you.
And when you lift your head, eyes sparkling from the lingering tears like the water’s surface on a sunny day paired with that smile of yours which never fails to send his heart into a frenzy and make him feel like he is eighteen trying to court you amid his flushed skin and pounding heart all over again, he cannot help but to think, “I love you.”
Your eyes widen a fraction before softening, the words, “I love you more,” uttered with such tenderness it makes his heart skip a beat and inhale sharply. He realises then that he said it out loud. It matters little, however, when the sentiment is always there — lingering, waiting to be said over and over again, a quiet longing for you forever and always.
Varka decides then and there he will tell you everything. From the very beginning of the expedition where he asked Boreas to give his soul so he could track down the fragments of Andrius’ spirit and help him, to the encounters he had and the perils he faced throughout the regions, to the new friends he made that he thinks you would get along with if given the chance to meet (really, just say the word and he will have everything arranged within days, a week maximum!), to the accumulating burden he carried with every fragment of Boreas’ spirit he absorbed and resonated with, to the crises that really seemed to pick up in Nod-Krai — from the Wild Hunt he constantly fended off, to the calamities known as Rerir, one of the Five Sinners: the Rächer of Solnari, and Dottore, one of the Fatui Harbingers otherwise known as The Doctor.
And, of course, his final collection of Andrius’ fragments and the confrontation against and Abyss-consumed Roland; how he knew he was bound to face off against him at some point to help Andrius stave off the Abyss, how he was prepared and planned for the worst case if things went awry, how he died and fell into heart of the wolf so he could convey Boreas’ thoughts to Andrius, how he fought against countless Abyssal creatures to fight his way back home, how the letter he asked you and everyone to send was what allowed him to come back home to Mondstadt, how he saw your spirit asking him to get back home safely in the Ley Lines and nearly broke down at the sight of you after so long, and how he finally made it back to you just like you wished...
He spills everything, leaving no woe unsaid, no fear of his left to linger in the back of his mind, no what-if to haunt him in every waking moment.
Predictably, you’re a mess. Sobs wrack through your body as he recounts everything in earnest, not wanting to keep you in the dark any longer and have you doubt his trust in you. He isn’t any better either, his own tears spilling out when apologising for making you believe he doesn’t trust you enough to confide in you and for causing your tears in the first place.
And yet, even when you’re calling him stupid, or an idiot, or a fool, your fists weakly banging against his chest, he still thinks you’re the most beautiful person in the world.
He thinks as such when one of his hands lifts to cup your cheek and thumb away the stray tears spilling over your lashes; when you subconsciously lean into his warm and callus palm, your own hand raising to hold the back of his hand, and his heart rate spiking as a result; when your other hand moves to toy with the wolf fang necklace resting against his chest, your fingers brushing against his now warmed skin; when he dips his head and begins to press soft, lingering kisses against your forehead, your brow bone, the space between your brows, your eyelids, the corners of your eyes, your temple, your hairline, your cheekbones, nose bridge, the tip of your nose, the apple of your cheeks, your jaw, your chin, the corners of your lips, and eventually the lush of yours lips itself.
His heart just about bursts at the seams with each of your tinkling laughter floating into his ears at every ministration he performs, your shared warmth seeping deep into his skin as he gazes half-lidded into your expression crinkled shut with unadulterated glee.
I love you. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. Only you, forever you.
Sometimes he wonders if you will ever know the true depth of his love for you. If you will ever know just how ardently his devotion for you runs, how every one of his drunken rambles throughout the expedition always centred around how much he misses you and loves you and wishes to see you soon (even the Pyro Archon herself wished him a safe return to you as soon as possible the morning after their drinking competition as a result of his inebriated mourning over his lack of, well, you), how every battle he fought was always entered with the mindset of winning so he could return to you in one piece, how he would find the flickering amber of the campfire dull in comparison to the warmth of you give him, how he lamented over the expedition’s ever-changing locations unfit to properly send you letters with a definite receiving address, how he carried your picture with him everywhere and kept it concealed securely behind his breastplate to always have a reminder of you on his person, how…
…How when you welcomed him back from the expedition, the love in your eyes having not wavered in the slightest after six long years, he found himself falling in love with you all over again.
But these sentiments will be tucked away in a space closest to his heart for only him to look back on and think about, hidden carefully behind curved bones and soft organs. A space only ever reserved to keep you as close as humanly possible.
Instead, he gently swipes under your reddened eyes, thumb massaging the swollen skin in soothing motions. “Alright. I think it’s time we get some shut-eye after all that.”
“No more nightmares?” you ask, a light jest yet the concern woven in your tone is more than evident about your worry for him.
He smiles. “No. Not this time. Not with you in my arms and your doubt quelled.”
Huffing, you lightly swat his chest with a smile of your own, but don’t deny the need for slumber. You shuffle under the covers, wriggling until you find the most optimal spot for your comfort before settling in. Tucked close to his chest, his chin resting atop your head, your arms around his waist with one hand gently carding the hair at his nape, one of his arms resting at your waist while the other has his hand cradling your cheek and softly thumbing your skin, legs tangled together beneath the sheets as your heartbeats fall into a steady rhythm.
When you whisper him a good night, lips a soft press against the warming skin of his chest, Varka thinks the world will be okay. Even if it is just for this moment, even if he will wake up tomorrow night with the same nightmare once more, he thinks that this place in your shared bed, in your shared home, with you in his arms is the happiest place for him to be.
That night, Varka sleeps soundly. When he wakes up, he is greeted by the warm sunlight filtering through the window and you sleeping comfortably atop him while he lays on his back. The smile which melts his expression into that of pure adoration is hardly surprising; neither is the way he wraps his arms around you a little more securely and presses chaste kisses along the skin he has access to in this position.
I love you, he thinks with each reverent press, only stopping when you stir slightly, incoherent mumbles muffled against his neck. I love you, he thinks again when you lift your head slightly, nose brushing against his chin as you blink sleepily at him with a dreamy smile that makes his heart pound a little quicker before pressing a quick kiss to his jaw and letting your head rest in the crook of his neck. I love you, he thinks once more when your breathing evens out, you completely relaxed in his presence doing something irreparable to him. I love you, Varka thinks finally as his arms wrap around you a little tighter, nose brushing against your scalp as his fingers trace little hearts into your lower back.
The duties of Grand Master can wait a little longer, he thinks. After all, his duties as a husband are yet to be completed, and he takes his role as such to be of utmost priority much like with anything that pertains to you, his beloved spouse.
if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33
✦ release me from the shackles of the author's block curse pls || bear w/ my posts atm until i got a proper fic idea LMAO forgive me 💔💥
"what do you think would happen if a woman has a dick?"
"pardon me, what..?"
hiromi's eyes still has a tinge of redness in them due to the exhaustion mixing together with the pure drowsiness from his assigned tasks back at the law firm. why's that the first ever question you asked while still have barely awaken and stabilize your own thoughts yet?
"women—" you emphasized it once again, "— with penis."
"???" hiromi turns to you with an absolutely done expression. "why the hell would you even ask that."
"It's.. an innocent question??"
"i mean it must be tough right.."
his voice came out muffled against the pillow now. "why..?"
"imagine you're having some project presentation and got erection. your dick be so large and bulgy in your pants and—"
"ok ok that's enough.." hiromi zooms in awfully close to your face so you guys are seeing eyeballs to eyeballs soul to soul typa shit.
"did you forget to take your meds?"
"i— what??" you narrow your eyes at your man, bonking his nose with your own as if they're on a mini epic showdown. "are you calling me insane."
"well," he scrunches his nose. "kinda."
"that's bullshit."
"language."
"you're not steve rogers."
the male seemed perplexed for a sec as to why would you even mentioned captain america out of the blue, but didn't dare to question you about it.
"my point still stands though," you cleared your throat not too long after. "must've sucked to have a dick being inappropriately and randomly erect."
"i prefer you sucking on it though.."
"can i bite on it?"
"absolutely not." he shot back as quickly. "hell no."
hiromi silently prays that this morning session would be over soon. he's still too sleepy and half-awake for this fuckery being spouted from your pretty mouth. he can't help himself but to keep listening to you though.
"biting on it like how i bite the metal spear that i kept on our basement down there."
"????????" is what displayed upon hiromi's face at this point. "since when did we have a spear and a basement?"
"built it yesterday with steve."
"u high asf." he then tries to throw a large ass pillow at you but you flawlessly dodged it just like those olympic champions avoiding obstacles to head toward their victory. for a lawyer he sure sucks in throwing (joke ok higu never sucks).
"and U suck at throwing."
"repeat that again sweetheart."
you shrieked when he majestically stands on the bed directly from his previously lying position almost inhumanly so— leading you sprinting somewhere inside the house and grabbed a long schlong ass spear that wins in terms of his dick length, chasing him down as he screams like a little girl around the house while u hold the spear still.
"'m SORRY MOTHER DRagON SORRY-!!^#^#&"
you intentionally let the tip of the spear to hit his ass cheeks, to which he bounces every once in a while at the sheer sensation. you will teach him a lesson for messing with the mother alpha rizzler owner of the house
✦ being accepted into studying within the prestigious academy of alexandria, your grades caught the attention of some lecturers there as it reaches quite the right amount of satisfactory, a little more than one should. natheless, your sole presence has evoked the sheer interest and the silent admiration from someone from your philosophy class— also your mentor, hiromi higuruma.
✦ fluff ⋮ hiromi is around the same age as you ⋮ college/academy setting ⋮ implications of loneliness ⋮ mixed perceptions mention ⋮ hiromi is a sweetheart and might be ooc ⋮ intended lowercase ⋮ grammatical errors ⋮ 2k+ wc.
✦ hey guys ! this is written as a part of the @sixxels valentine's day event, so i really really hope you guys enjoyed this (๑•ᴗ•๑) 💗💗 ☆ !! [art by @/ilameys, dividers by @/pixopix]
THE ACADEMY OF ALEXANDRIA, one of the most known institutions that is filled with the ones who mainly has belief in justice; the prestigious academy that is quite respectable with its’ high ratings by many. some managed to enroll there whether by pure determination or their work ethic toward their surroundings and toward others in general. luck barely assists someone to go into such a place— depending on the matter on hand.
but of course, there are a few exceptions being made, thank apollo. one may not be in the brightest state of their life as a whole, especially in terms of furthering their studies despite their admirable beliefs and outstanding grades, thus the idea of scholarship is being formed and offered to the ones who have clearly proven themselves well.
you are, one of the fortunate ones. like a rare bloom found amidst the anarchic lands, possessing one idiosyncratic knack within yourself despite your reserved and rather diffident demeanour.
some may find it intimidating, whilst others may find it intriguing in a sense. mixed perceptions are relatively common for you at this point, to which you usually disregard anything that could be deemed as a nuisance or unfavourable for the sake of your mental wellbeing.
very few tried to learn about you, yet none seemed to have reached the full score thus far.
none of them seemed to know on how you utterly adore those subdued spaces within the library itself, the serenity is what your very own soul craves every so often. you wouldn’t need to express any of your thoughts verbally to someone who possibly have less understanding of the state within your thoughts in general— mainly occupied by some unspoken insights and ideas to accompany you throughout the day.
notes are scattered around in a pleasant way as possible, as if you weren’t so bothered in assuring its’ neatness as you work through your philosophical contained notes. you oftentimes have the thirst of gathering new knowledge, noting yourself that you may have a strong belief in everything, especially into a deeper extent to it.
some may almost mistaken you as an impossibly lunatic being, yet who are you to judge if they were not in your shoes?
shaking your head upon the unpleasant thoughts, your fingers tighten its’ hold around the pen as if the pen might attempt its’ way to escape real soon. focus, focus, focus! why are you now experiencing such a situation like this out of all the times you had?
perhaps, you have been secluding yourself from the rest of the outside world for almost the entire day by now. most people around your age or so probably spending their precious time with their beloved ones wherever they desire of— a quite reasonable and a common occurrence especially when valentine’s day is soon approaching.
a day where two people usually spends their whole day together, spoiling one another or something akin to it. such a lovely way to devote yourself to your loved ones even more. you would be lying if you ever said that you never craved for one as well. but alas, what best chances that you could possibly have?
the movements of your hand halted halfway when another larger one engulfs your own whether by intention or not at all, radiating the needed warmth and comfort that you didn’t even know you’ve been needing one.
“i suggest you should take a break.”
“we have classes soon. you can continue later.”
you wanted so badly to refuse— anything so that you won’t even need to move away from your current spot, but in cases like this, hiromi is that type of guy who doesn’t take ‘no’ as a response, but surely, in the best way possible as it is for your own betterment as well.
or others may call it as persistency. an act that you truly loathed and humbling at the same time.
he eventually withdraws his hand from yours, causing you to furtively yearning more of his warmth unknowingly while your heart begins to beat rapidly without you intending it to be. you genuinely couldn’t understand as to why yet; your cheeks blooming in heat oh-so-noticeably to the ones who can be deemed having those analytical stares up close, potentially paint you as the one being foolish in a sense.
he seems to be oblivious— is he, really?
the taller male carries some of your stuff despite your hesitant protests, which falls onto deaf ears without you even asking for any sort of assistance at all. though, his eyes did spare fleeting glances at you when you failed to notice it yourself, causing his lips to tug upwards ever so slightly upon taking in the sight of your flustered expression.
“stop that.”
“hm?”
“i can sense you staring at me for the past few minutes..” you stated without even looking up at him anymore, almost sounding a little too sheepish. it genuinely amuses him greatly on how much effect he has on you.
“does it make you uncomfortable? i can stop if you—”
“no!” you replied abruptly, clearing your throat as the heat rushes to your cheeks once again. “no, i mean— they call it uh.. observation, is it..?” your voice turns quieter by the end of your sentence, as if sounding so doubtful yourself.
your response and reaction manage to charm him immensely, eliciting a resonant chuckle to slip past his lips, catching you by genuine surprise.
did he just— the sheer audacity of doing something like it in spite of the present emotions you’re experiencing… you didn’t even know whether to feel exasperated, embarrassed or all at the same time. the perplexity of it all...
but you wouldn’t take the pleasure to deny that the resonance of his voice makes you feel things that runs far deeper than you thought.
a few fleeting moments later, the atmosphere is surrounded by the sounds of book pages being flipped over, sporadic murmurs accompanying your existing senses in the most pleasant way possible. the academy of alexandria is truly a heavenly place to experience depending on the given hour of the day, which causes you to be more appreciative of the chances being provided for you amongst the other peers.
“what do you think about it?”
the soothing voice cuts through your line of thoughts inadvertently so, to which you turn your head swiftly to the source of it. “pardon?”
“i was talking about the true usage of our eyesight,” hiromi repeats, albeit in a tolerant manner. “some may only tend to view just by the surface, but not what lies beneath it.”
“which some may find it fascinating, yet frustrating if one doesn’t manage to figure it out like they’ve intended.”
“yeah,” you nodded, stopping yourself from jotting down the additional notes momentarily. “i agree. i mean like, i assume it’s easier for it to be kept away rather than it to be shown to the centre of attention.”
“besides, they also mentioned on how our eyes are the window to one’s soul or so.”
“i find it.. interesting.”
hiromi merely nods upon the choice of your words, sitting back up straighter and simply takes his time to observe his surroundings for a while. he appears to be in a contemplative state— tilting your head slightly in pure wonderment. what could he be possibly thinking of? does he have a date or something?
before you could process on the situation in hand, hiromi removes himself from his seat and approaches you closely, draping his large coat upon your shivering form. you barely paid attention to the current state of yourself, and yet he’s the one who successfully does so, noticing things first and way better than you did.
“you seem cold.”
he begins to utter in a direct tone, “you can use mine. i have enough self-heat anyway.” you hesitantly thanked for his kind gesture, albeit still being in a state of utter bewilderment.
are you just this unused to physical kindness, or he’s radiating the vibes that he might be… no, that’s impossible. how could someone as perceptive as he is can ever find fascination in someone like you?
a total bookish girl, unexciting, spending a lot of your time seeking the solace of the libraries within the academy… the list is horrifyingly endless.
“are you, perhaps, busy for this saturday?”
“uh, no..” you shake your head, “why is that? do we got any more lessons or..?”
“hah, no..”
hiromi huffs out a delightful-sounding chuckle, trying his very best to fight of the grin from forming upon his gorgeous features— yet failing to do so. by the heavens above, maybe he has simply grown weary of hiding every single of his expressions around you, wanting to allow himself to smile freely around you without fear and doubt within himself (and toward you, partially of it).
“to be fair, there’s something that has crossed my mind and i’ve been contemplating over it for almost a few days now."
"i’ve been finding myself wondering about you personally, if that makes sense,” he admits, ultimately trying to gather up the courage to speak to you about the said matter, successfully gaining your utmost attention as your heart begins to race wildly in anticipation.
“i have decided to take on the decision as to wanting to experience things on a deeper level, especially with what relationship we have established so far. i wished to learn more about you, if you would ever allow me to do so.”
the sheer sincerity lacing each of his chosen words catches you off guard at first, but you would be utterly deceitful if you said that you didn’t like it.
as if the warmth of his words manages to seep through your very own skin; the garden of butterflies fluttering and blooming oh-so-wildly could be feel from within you. this is genuinely the first time that someone actually has the courage to speak to you in such a way like this— causing for you to experience a mixture of emotions, especially from someone as hiromi whom you initially thought as the one being disinterested in such relationships.
“are you…” you tried your best to not stumble over your words. “are you asking me out, like on a date..?”
“yes.” his answer is immediate, as if to tone down the subtle enthusiasm and trepidation that’s beginning to bleed into reality through his current actions.
“you don’t happen to have a partner, do you?”
“no, not at all!” you cleared your throat afterwards. “i.. i’m free! for this saturday!”
dearest gods, you’re just so adorable being this flustered over his simple question, even going as far as him openly smiling at you— one that is visibly charmed, heart full of fondness despite not yet taken you out on a proper date.
“perfect.”
“i was thinking if you’re interested in going to the newly opened bistro not too far down the street,” hiromi leans forward slightly towards you, his arms on the desk still, eyes not leaving your form even for a short moment. “i heard only worthwhile reviews there and the menus varied greatly. i have a feeling that you might enjoy our time together there.”
and he also intentionally left out the fact that he may or may not have reserved a table for two for the day. just at the right spot with the best lighting possible, with little to no distractions as he wants to make the whole experience something unforgettable between the two of you.
a further proof that he has feelings for you going on for some unspoken time now. one that runs deep without him intending it to be, leaving him needing and yearn more for your mere presence.
you nodded way too eagerly at this point, beaming so brightly while your eyes glisten with unshed tears by the sheer intensity of it all. “oh my god are you kidding me?? yes, ABSOLUTELY yes!”
everything around you two passes by like a blur, none bothered to pay attention to it as hiromi’s now completely focused on you. one of his hands reached out and capture your own ones, planting a small, reverent kiss atop of your knuckles as one of his ways of showing pure gratitude.
“i’m very glad to know that you’ve accepted my company for the special day.” he murmurs while still holding onto your hand so ardently, the weight seemed to dissipate and replaced with a profound happiness, one that you’ve taken part of willingly.
“i think we should end our session for today, yeah? i’ll accompany you home today.”
you couldn’t find it in yourself to decline such a sweet offer, so you agreed once more. but this time, with a hopeful feeling blooming within your very own heart.
and he never once intended to stop, until the day that holds a lot of significance arrives on time. amber-hued lights lowered yet warm for the eyes to see, amiable chatters blending in with the surroundings so naturally well— the bistro is understandably full of lovely pairs sitting on their chosen tables, merely relishing in their own moments together.
the distant, yet resonance of the cello reverberates through the available spaces possible, the metallic clinks against the plates are shared despite the meal differences. you find your eyes wander around aimlessly, taking the whole scenery in while hiromi's soft gaze is fixated on you.
he reaches out for your hand and held it as long as he possibly could. as if it's a way to ground himself, reassuring that your presence is truly there with him on that exact moment. the shared personal conversations, laughter, being in the same space as one another...
he realizes, deep down, that you two are made to accompany each other from this day onwards. he hopes, that shall be the case.
when the day ultimately reaches its' time for you two to part ways to the comfort of your homes, he ensures to plant a lingering kiss on your forehead, the knuckle of your hands as if you're being carved by the gods themselves— allowing the warmth of his coat to engulf your form, not bothering to demand it for a return for the time being.
and as an act of finalization of the day, as the sun sinks lower and the moon rises while taking its' specialized spot, he brushes his lips against your own tenderly. being heedful, taking his sweet time to savor you against him, needing no more spoken words to ensure the future would be shared and given between the two of you.
Strenuous day at work, needed something soft. Second part of this request by @kianaflame23
Clive Rosfield x female reader
Werewolf princess AU, angst and fluff in this part.
-----
Claws Pt 2
Clive can't stop staring at you. When you're hiding your truth, stomping down your feelings to play the cold princess that you definitely aren't. His nostrils flare when you're nervous. Your smell is intoxicating, and he wonders why that is. “...” He had come to your kingdom because the King was a famous hunter. And he…
“Clive!”
“...Huh?” You appear in front of his face, frown on your face.
“I called you… for over three times already. What has you lost in thought? Does your wound still hurt?”
You're so worried, it's endearing, really. “I'm fine, princess. Just thinking about where we can go next.” The both of you are relaxing in the tall grass outside. The sun is up high, shining warmly upon the kingdom. “Then again, it might rain soon.” He says.
“Why? The sky is as blue as can be.” You don't believe him. He couldn't explain that it was the smell of upcoming rain in the sky.
“A matter of experience.” He replies instead.
“Okay, then let's go back.” You suggest getting up from the grass. You took his words as truth so easily. If you knew what he was… Clive swallows.
“Alright.” You still hadn’t asked how he got hurt. He waited for it, but you had other matters on your mind, apparently.
“What’s your favorite color?” You ask. He gives her a raised eyebrow.
“...Blue.”
“Oh. I never would’ve guessed. You only have red clothing.”
“...Hmmm.” You had worn a blue dress when you went outside to join him for the first time. When he laughed, opting for you to change. You hadn't worn it since. “What's yours?” Clive asks as they walk back to the castle.
“I like all colors… but if I had to pick one now, it would be purple.” You reply after a moment.
“What? Does it change each year?” He doesn’t get it.
“It could, depending on my mood, or latest fashion.” When he still looks odd at you, you laugh.
…
He smiles widely when you arrive at dinner in that damned blue dress. Fuck. He sometimes wondered if you were a witch. Do they exists? Or were you the only one? Sitting across from him, carefully eating your food with the appointed cutlery. Different from his home. They ate meat with their hands, ripping it to shreds with sharp veneers. Raw, juicy steaks hunted with precision. You were looking at him, he could feel your gaze burning. What do you want, princess? And when he looks up, you look away.
…
The full moon is days away. This time it must be done. This time the King will have his head. And then you have avoided marriage for at least a few months. Clive is sitting on his bed, back against the wall, one leg out stretched. He doesn't even have to look outside to know that the moon is nearing its completion. His eyesight and smell are sharper than ever. His eyes dart to the door, when something is shoved underneath it. A letter. From you, as far as your perfume doused the parchment. He's quick on his feet, snatching the message from the tile floor. Ripping the envelope open with his finger, ignoring the Kingdoms seal.
His eyes widened reading the contents. It turns out you had enjoyed your outings with him. Even though they had been an escape for him. Moments of freedom before the inevitable. The original plan was to send him back at the beginning of next month, but you were hoping…. Clive swallows. That the feeling was mutual and he'd like to spend more time with you. Clive of House Rosfield, I’d like to get to know you better. I am fond of our conversations, and I hope the feeling is mutual. Your handwriting is perfect. Not a droplet of ink spilled, not a letter crooked or misplaced. He exhales a breath, unaware he was holding it. “It's mutual princess… but I’m not right for you.” You were going to suffer because of him. It wasn't his intention to get attached, but the outdoors was nowhere near as fun without you. Reading together was a new discovered joy. He'd fallen asleep against you in the library, softly snoring while you'd keep reading your poetry. You let him do that. And now, during this time of the moon cycle, he was losing his composure. He needed to distance himself quickly, otherwise it would hurt that much worse. “...I…” Reluctantly, he sits himself behind his desk, taking out a quill and inktpot. As if he had no control over his hand. Like his heart took over, he jotted down; the feeling is mutual. I was not prepared for your beauty then, and I’m not prepared for your kindness now. I'll stay for as long as you’ll have me.
The words dried ever so quickly. His heart, expressed on paper. For the first time in his life he felt comfortable to do so. That being himself was enough. The blush on his face vanished, his eyes shifting to the moon. God, did he hate that fucking light.
…
In the end, he didn't have the heart to shove his reply under your door. As some way of terrible punishment, he still asked you to join him for a read in the library. You nodded, gaze lingering. A few hours of silence as you sat next to each other in a reading nook created by you. “Do not tell my father about how I read.” You’d warned him the first time, as you shared pillows and blankets to create a comfortable corner.
“I won’t, I promise.” Hand to his chest, a knight's promise. Clive wasn't sleepy. Tomorrow was a full moon. This was your final evening together. With a blanket over your shoulders and legs, you were immersed in your book. For the first hour at least. Not a care about the wrinkles in your lilac dress. Your gaze was on him. Big eyes scanning his face. He swallows, lowering his book.
“You said you'd do anything.” You say, and Clive nods dryly. No need to ask what you were referencing. “What do you really think of me?” Not the question he was expecting. He gives you a puzzled look. He still thinks you're cute when your brows furrow. “I know for a fact that you are not stupid, Clive.” His name on your lips melts his insides. No one said it with such softness. Softness he doesn't deserve.
“You want to know what I really think of you?”
“I do.” So determined. And so clueless. If you were like him, you'd already known. That his heart beats faster when you're near. His cheeks heat up when you approach. And he cannot help but smile as you go out together.
“May I show you?” Your turn to give him a puzzled look. And a nod, a mere moment later. Your cheeks are crimson. Clive is slow in tilting your chin his way. Slow in moving in, ample opportunity to refuse him. You would, if you knew who he truly was. Instead, you waited. His heart was weak for allowing himself this moment of pure bliss. Your lips were so incredibly soft on his. Your hand gripped his red leather vest. His other hand found your warm cheek briefly before moving to the back of your neck. Your perfume was intoxicating, forcing his lips to part. You followed him, deepening the kiss. Surprisingly, your tongue fought his, as you pulled him closer. Clive let go of your chin, dropping his hand to your blanket wrapped waist. “...That is what I think of you.” He says, after the both of you need to catch your breath. A moment of silence as your gazes are locked. His nostrils briefly flare. You don't deny him. You don't find him weak.
“Kiss me again.” You demand. He happily obliged.
—
Your eyes shoot open as you once again hear that wretched howling. Pulling the sheets over your head wasn't helping. You hate to admit it, but you didn't want to be alone. Not right now. Without thinking you get up, drape a cloak around you and go over to the door next to yours. Which is ajar. With a raised eyebrow, you peek inside. Was he getting refreshments? Maybe you shouldn’t be so nosy, but then again, this was your wing. Opening the door fully, reveals an empty room. Again, no personal belongings, like Clive didn't live here. You had made it awfully clear before that he wouldn't be staying, but after yesterday you thought things changed somewhat at least. You could marry this man. It wouldn't be bad. The thought made you shiver. Subconsciously, you touch your lips. Another shiver runs through you, this time for the wide open window. Flapping of parchment. That caught your attention first. Trotting over, you found two pieces of parchment. You recognized your letter, stuck under the inktpot. The feeling is mutual. I was not prepared for your beauty then, and I’m not prepared for your kindness now. I'll stay for as long as you’ll have me.
His answer. Quill laying on top. He hadn't given you this. “Why?” Your stomach churned. Another breeze almost blew the paper off the desk. You held it down quickly, and moved over to the window with the intention of closing it. And there, when you looked down on the castle grounds, even from afar, you were met with yellow eyes.
Hii! Is your request open? love your Clive x reader fics! Can you do werewolf x princess au pls? 🥹🙏
Thanks for waiting! And for the compliment 🥰.
Clive Rosfield x female reader
Werewolf x Princess AU
---
Claws
You're young and brazen when you enter the edges of the castle grounds forest. After a fight with your father, the King, you want to run away. Enough of the politics and problems of the commoners. Venturing in with a simple dress, a dagger and slingback of provisions, you are planning to find the nearest harbor and start somewhere new. But fate wouldn't have it. Because when darkness falls over and enshrouds the forest, a pair of large yellow eyes peer at you. The full moon revealed a large beast, howling into the night. You'd been frozen in fear when the beast approached. Towering over you and ready to strike, was when your body gave out and your mind succumbed.
How the guards found you alive and unharmed, you'll never know. But the fear of wolves would stay forever.
—
“Father. I told you a million times already. I do not want to get married. It feels like you're just selling me off.” You look at a stack of marriage prospects that is being gently shoved towards you.
“You should be grateful for the interest people are showing you.” Your father replies, a disappointed look on his face.
“I don't care about that. All these men want me to come to them, live in their castle and service them. Is that what you wish for your daughter? Do you not want me anymore?”
“Daughter… of course not. Look, half of them prefer to come here anyway.” It made sense, you being the princess of one of the bigger kingdoms Valisthea had to offer. You were the heir to the throne. With no brothers or sisters, you were next in line. Obviously men would come flock towards you.
“..These men want me for your power. Nothing else.”
“Sweetheart…” Your father's voice softens. “It's going to be all yours one day. And you'll need to produce an heir to pass it on and keep this prosperous nation where it belongs.” You knew that. You had already postponed this decision for a few years until your father got fed up and had five candidates arranged.
“Can't we wait another year? I'm still not versed enough in politics and state affairs.” Your father crosses his arms.
“Nice try. You're picking one. Now. And you'll meet him. If I deem him worthy, you'll have a husband before the end of the year.” You swallow. The servants came to serve dessert, but you were no longer hungry. Your mouth is dry when you reach for the stack of parchment in the middle of the long, rectangular table. Your father sat across from you, patiently eating his dessert. Which one would have the least chance of appeasing my father? Looking through them, one catches your attention. Why would this tiny neighbouring kingdom approach my father for marriage? Did they think they had a chance with their political relationship? Prince Clive. From the five picked, this one would be the least liked by your father, you were certain. There wasn't even an option to move in with him in Rosalith. The only one not wanting you to go there. He looked like you could control him, with his army background. “..This one. Let's try this one.” You'd annoy the shit out of your father, and you would keep Clive on a leash for just until the end of the year and dismiss him. Then pick the next one and repeat. Your father sighs in response when you hand him the parchment.
And so, a week later, you stand in front of Clive of house Rosfield. Matching his house colors, you picked a red dress with short sleeves, with matching lace gloves that reached up to your elbow. As is tradition, your guest is received in the grand entrance hall. Your father sits on his throne as he lets Clive approach. Plenty of guards around to show he had to thread carefully. You were standing next to your father, and customs declared you descended the few steps to meet your future husband. Reaching out your hand from him to take, you scan him. He towers over you, his armor burly and intimidating. Still, you were raised better than that. Stomp down your feelings and give the other nothing. Meeting his piercing blues eyes, you wait for him to move. He's scanning you too, eventually taking your hand to place a chaste kiss on the back. The scruff on his chin scratches you slightly. Could've shaved. Then again, it suits him. “My Lady, I've been counting down the days for us to meet. I was not prepared for your beauty.” Nicely practiced. You think. He's not that happy to be here either.
You introduce yourself, making a curtsy bow. “The honor is all mine, Lord Rosfield. Shall I show you around?” Your father nods in approval, and with a few guards in tow, you lead the way.
He's silent when you go past all the places you're allowed to go. “..Would you like to go to your room next, or prefer to get some fresh air in the castle gardens?”
“The gardens.” He's quick to respond, lighting up at the idea of fresh air. The moment you step outside, you see him visibly relax. His face reveals a little smile, shoulders lowered. A long silence as you walk the scenic route. You'd come here a few times per week to appreciate the lush flowers and greenery. It was all kept to perfection, even if the weather was less than stellar. “..What's over there?” Clive points past the gardens, further ahead.
“..I don’t know.” You say hesitantly. You never went outside castle grounds anymore. Your father was too protective of his sole heir since that incident.
“..You'll become the Queen of a country you've never seen?” Clive questions, and you feel heat creep up your cheeks. With the guards left stationed around the garden, he speaks freely.
“Without a husband to protect me, I cannot go anywhere. I went with my father whenever I could.” You say, not liking his wording.
“Alright. Then allow me.”
…
And he is true to his word. The moment you are done with your duties, he takes you outside. Walking to new places. Teaching you to spot tracks. How to keep away from dangerous ones. When you first showed up in a dress, he actually laughed at you. “Oh princess.. This won't do.”
“You would be wise to stop laughing, Lord Rosfield.” You'd warned.
“Please, call me Clive. Let's find you something more suitable to wear.” Fortunately the castle tailors were quick into crafting you a suitable exploration outfit. Thigh high boots, leather trousers and breathable linen shirts with long sleeves. Leather bodice to protect and stay warm in colder weather. It was scary at first. But there were always guards present, and you never encountered anything other than rabbits.
This goes on for a few weeks, until he doesn't show up one day. His room is in the same wing as yours, so you go over and knock. “..I can't today, princess. I'm not feeling well.”
“Oh. Okay.” Are you sad about that? “Let me know if I could get you anything.” No response.
That night, you didn't sleep well. The full moon sends rays of light into your chambers, dancing softly over your sheets. There was a piercing howl in the distance. A shiver goes down your spine as you pull the blankets over your head. Another wolf in the vicinity of the castle? Your father will be out hunting tomorrow.
Even though Clive is ill the next day, your father urges him along on the hunt. His face is pale, eyes bloodshot. But he does as asked. While you spend the day reading in the library, your future husband returns with a deer. “Keen eyes you have, Lord Rosfield.” He even gets complimented by your father during dinner. The deer is served.
“What about the wolf?” You can’t help but ask. Your father furrows his brows.
“We’ll get it next time if it shows up around here.”
…
“I'd rather read today.” You decline Clive's next invitation to go outside. It's all he seems to enjoy, and while you did for a while too, the newness of it has worn off. And with that wolf out there… He lingers, always wearing that red black armor. “You don't need to try so hard.” You start. “We both don't want to get married. So let's stay civil for a few more months and I'll dismiss you. Then you can return home.” No need for theatrics. The two of you can use each other before parting ways.
“..I cannot go back home.” Clive reveals, standing frozen in place. It was quiet in the library. Only surrounded by generations of books. And secrets. “My family has disowned me. They had no need for someone like me.” Huh?
“.. Someone like you?”
“My younger brother is everything my parents expected of me.” You shouldn't be interested in his history. Or the sob story that he's laying on you for you to feel guilty. Even so, it doesn't seem like he's lying. He hasn't moved, keeping his distance. He looks like a sad puppy.
“...Is marrying me going to solve your problems? Because I'll have bad news for you.”
“It won't.” He replies, a wry smile on his face. “I'll get out of your hair, princess.”
Weeks pass, and the next full moon makes you anxious. The howling doesn't stop, and half the Royal Guard departs with your father to make you feel at ease. “...Clive. Are you awake?” You knock on his door. It's stupid of you to go to him. But his room is next to yours, and your fingers won't stop shaking. He knows about the outside world. About animals and nature. He could calm you. There is no response. You want to knock again, and the moment your knuckles touch the wood, they press the door open. There is no one inside. A brief draft passes through, as his window is open. You didn't mean to pry, but you notice that he hasn't brought any possessions with him. His armor and weaponry is missing. Disappointed, you return to your chambers.
When morning comes and are going downstairs for breakfast, you hear groaning. Painful groaning from Clive's room. “..Clive?” The noises stop instantly. “I'm coming in.” This was your castle wing. He tries to hide under his sheets when you barge in.
“Princess-”
“...You're hurt.” You can only watch him in utter shock. How did that happen? His sheets are stained with blood, his face is pale.
“This is not-” He tries, but you're already at his bed. “Don’t come closer-” You don't care that he's bare as you pull the blankets away. You have no idea what kind of wound it is, but it needs attention. His abdomen is bleeding.
“...How did this happen?” You search for an answer in his eyes, but he’s silent. The wound came first. “I should get a servant-”
“It’ll heal.”
“What are you saying?! This is-”
“Princess.” He pleads. “I’ll do anything. Please.” You look at him, gaze pulled from his wound.
“...Alright.” You take the deal of convenience. After you fetch supplies, he tells you how to dress the wound. Since you’re not letting him do it himself. His eyes are on you, and you wonder if he notices you’re nervous. Who wouldn’t be. Your heartbeat is in your throat, and your hands are shaking at the sight of blood.
“...Why would you help me?” Clive can’t help but ask. You weren’t going to say that you’re warming up to him. But for weeks on end, he took you outside, enthusiastically showing you what’s out there.
“This is the least I could do after you accompanied me outside.” You admit, tying the bandages. He winces briefly, then musters up a smile.
Clive is good at hiding his wounds. He joins you for breakfast like nothing had happened moments before. Furthermore, he also notices your glances. When you look at him once more, he winks. While your father talks about state affairs, your face is beet red. What’s going on with me? Do I fancy men who are hurt?
After a few days, Clive invites you out again. “..Are you sure? With your woun-” You whisper, but Clive smiles.
“Princess, something like that wouldn’t stop me from inviting you out.”
“R-really? Could you still protect me? From wolves and such?” His face changes at the question.
“...Are you afraid of wolves?” Clive asks a question in return, seeing your face fall.
“How did you know?!”
“A guess.” He lies. “But yes, I’d protect you with my life.” And so, the two of you venture outside.
-------
Not a true ending (yet), but this could become a three parter if you like it so far! Let me know if there's anything you'd like to see happen. Any feedback is always welcome.
omg thank u for the tag @dolldamnedd i miss doing these 💗
fave colour: pink!
last song: strangers - ethel cain
currently reading: nothing atm but i'm planning on starting we love you, bunny by mona awad soon
currently watching: hex (2004) except i finished it like a week ago
cravings: a nap does that count??
coffee or tea: coffee but only if it's iced. i hate hot drinks and i hate tea as a whole
tags!!: @dangeroustaintedflawed @elininblack (hi mamas) @fear-is-truth @melancholyangel333 @c0ca1n3erotica @del1rey + anybody else i'm in class and can't think of people to tag
title is based off the song hungry like the wolf by duran duran
halloween night of horrors masterlist can be found here!
pairing: werewolf clive rosfield x f!reader
summary: your lover always disappears on the night of a full moon every month and you’re determined to figure out why
word count: 8,331 (don’t perceive me 🫣)
content: NSFW (minors + ageless blogs DNI you will be blocked) minor plot spoilers, monsterfucking, teratophilia, knotting, blood, choking, established relationship, slight dumbification, minor breast/nipple play, oral (f!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, size kink, manhandling, belly bulge/pushing, spit, slight overstimulation, multiple orgasms, scent kink, scratching, biting, one spank, hints of degradation, praise, pet names (sweetheart, darling, love) reader is wearing a dress
* i want to give a BIG thank you to @strawberrystepmom for answering all my anatomical questions and helping me through my writing process! she also has a werewolf fic of her own if you want to check it out ^_^
a/n: AND I LASTED TEN ROUNDS LIKE A FREAKKKKK LIKE A GGGGGGGGG. this was inspired by the beach scene with clive and jill, iykyk. I WILL NEVER BE NORMAL AGAIN THANKS TO THEM!!truly did not expect this to get as long as it did but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
recommended listening for this fic is MONSTER by lady gaga
divider by @/benkeibear
Waves crash at your toes from where you stand on the shoreline, and the fire you made from scattered kindling on the rocky beach crackles in the background, its golden flame shining bright against the navy blue sky.
You sigh, staring into the dark ether, hoping and praying for an answer to your troubles. The cold water laps at your feet, manifesting a shiver in your spine that flows throughout the rest of your body. Grumbling, you glare back at Metia and the full moon with disdain, acting as if the two of them were in cahoots with each other, taunting you. You huff, shoving your arms to your sides with clenched fists as you continue to bitch, arguing with the moon and stars above.
"You're not even going to help me? Even though you're the cause of all this?"
Your index finger is shoved into the sky, pointing directly at the hunk of rock that floats within it, and it's not long after that gust of wind blows through you, billowing through the skirt of your pale dress, causing it to fly in right your face, a protest of sorts in response to the little tantrum you were throwing.
You fold the fabric back down onto your legs, holding its hem while letting out a snide, "Well, I hope the two of you are enjoying yourselves," before you turn your back in defiance and slosh through the ankle-deep water toward the fire, choosing to settle down on your bed roll for the night.
You shouldn't be surprised. All your prayers turned out to be for naught; it'd be foolish to think that this time would be any different.
You pout and pull your knees to your chest, settling your cheeks on the joints of your legs as you stare into the fiery embers, the sand scratching the skin between your toes as they curl into the seashore. You had long since forgone your sandals, as keeping the granules out of the material proved to be a losing battle.
"This was such a foolish idea," you mutter to yourself, choosing to reflect on the actions that brought you here.
You and Clive had been courting for several months now, and in that time you began to notice a particular pattern he developed. During the three days surrounding every full moon, he always disappeared without a trace, unable to be found anywhere in the hideaway.
It wasn't uncommon for Clive to be away from the hideout; if anything, he was probably away from it more than he wasn't, always coming to someone's aid. As long as they roamed the lands of Valisthea, he'd be there.
But after three separate occurrences of him disappearing around the same set of circumstances, it began to look less and less like a coincidence and more like a habit. The first two times he "vanished," you had attributed the cause to "business as usual," assuming he was off assisting the curse breakers or aiding in the transportation of recently freed bearers, but the longer the two of you stayed together, the more prominent his disappearances became.
You had confronted him about it once, apprehensively inquiring if he had taken on another lover during his time away. You heard the tale of his time in North Reach before he, Cid, and Jill eventually set their sights on destroying Drake's head. Maybe he'd found a courtesan at The Veil on his returning trip to Sanbreque after word of Isabelle needing his assistance came in.
He immediately shot the notion down, sympathizing with your cause of concern. He reassured you that you were the only one for him, and you believed him, of course. He's been nothing but loyal and devoted to you throughout your whole relationship so far. Even Jill stepped in and vouched for him at one point, stating that "cheating was far beneath him" and that he "treasured you more than anything else in the realm."
Yet he still didn't do much in providing an actual explanation for where he was going, stumbling through an excuse about the Mothercrystals and needing to stay away for your protection, but the risks of danger hadn't stopped him from brainstorming strategies with you before, so why now all of a sudden was he coddling you like a child? If not a secret lover, then what else could be hiding from you? Not even the collection of books residing in the Shelves provided an answer as to why your lover would disappear for three days time every full moon.
The longer this went on, the more you assumed everyone was just taking the piss out of you. Sure, most people in the hideaway were often busy with their own assignments, but you couldn't have been the only person who noticed a similar pattern of behavior, right?
You took to asking people around the hideout if they noticed a change in Clive's demeanor, with most of them stating that he'd been acting as he usually would, nothing out of the ordinary, while some others, mainly Tarja, thought it'd be funny to get a bit cheeky with you, commenting, "Wouldn't you be the one to notice if he was behaving strangely?" She means no real offense, so you try your best not to get frustrated with the more empty answers you're handed. It wasn't their fault that your lover was so cagey about his whereabouts. It's not like they were his keeper, as he was the one everyone answered to. You even took to inquiring Otto about it, though it didn't prove to be any more fruitful as he spat out the same Mothercrystals excuse as Clive did.
Your last and final hope was Jill. She had known Clive the longest—since they were children; if anyone were to have insight on what was going on with him, it'd be her, but you're met with similar responses as Clive and Otto. An apprehensive look crossed her features when you asked her if she knew why Clive was disappearing each month or where he went. She simply shrugged her shoulders, shook her head, and stated that she hadn't noticed anything strange going on with him, which only proved to make you more suspicious.
Having had enough of the unanswered questions, you decided that the (not-so) smartest thing to do would be to take a little trip during the week of the full moon and not tell anyone. Was it a bit selfish? Desperate? Yes, but you rationalized that if you disappeared during that time, Clive would have no choice but to come out of hiding and look for you, thus leaving you free to discuss his whereabouts. It definitely wasn't the most well-thought-out plan you've ever come up with, but the lack of transparency was beginning to drive you mad.
The next few weeks were spent making preparations for the trip ahead in secret, taking on extra assignments to save up gil so you could spend a few nights at an inn. The night before your departure, you decided to take on all outstanding alliant reports on the bulletin while everyone was asleep so that you could circumvent a scolding from Otto about skipping out on your duties when you returned.
Early to rise the next morning, you gather a small pack of your belongings and shuffle off toward the pier before Clive awoke, careful to slip from his gentle embrace so as to not rouse him from his slumber. You glance down at his sleeping face, taking in how peaceful he looked while resting.
You gather your pack and make your way toward the boats. The sunrise on the open water is a stark contrast to the scowl that Obolus greets you with so early in the day.
"Good morning!" You beam, your smile shining brightly in his direction, as you carefully step onto the ferry.
"Someone's rather chipper this morning," he snickers, preparing to set sail in the blighted waters.
"You could say that," you respond, taking your seat on the wooden boards as the vessel starts to bob in the water and glancing back as the hideaway comes to life, everyone beginning to start their day.
When choosing a destination for this little excursion, you soon realized that there was only one correct choice, so you set your sights on Rosaria, having expressed wanting to return there to Clive before, so if he truly knew you as well as he claimed, he'd have no trouble finding you.
The majority of your time was spent at Martha's Rest, helping her out with the ever-growing cray claw population that seemed to be terrorizing most merchants traveling in the area. It was peaceful, with most nights spent exchanging tales with the locals over pints of ale.
On the day before the full moon, Martha half-joked about keeping you stationed with her, finding your company to be most pleasant, and though you couldn't make any promises, you assured her that you would stop by whenever time allowed.
It was only on the night of the full moon itself that you decided to take to the sea. The salty air and crash of the waves gave you a sense of tranquility unlike any other. It was almost as if you could sit back and forget all the horrors of the world around you.
As you draw swirl patterns into the sand with your finger, you begin to wonder if Clive will ever find you. Maybe he never even realized you were gone, and you'd be forced to return home with your tail between your legs, not having gotten any closer to the answers you so desired.
Unbeknownst to you, though, Clive was actively on the hunt, having noticed your disappearance shortly after your departure that morning. The space beside him in bed was cold and empty when he awoke. Though confused, he didn't think much of it; sometimes people are being sent away as reinforcements without much notice.
His day went pretty much the same as normal, though an underlying discomfort lay deep within him, wishing to share details of upcoming plans with you but being unable to.
It's not until you don't return that evening that he begins to get antsy. Deciding that he doesn't want to come across as overly possessive, he manages to hold his tongue, only voicing his concerns about your absence that night at the ale hall during supper, his dining mates recounting that they haven't seen you but to "not fret as you were probably just sent away on an overnight assignment."
He nods, taking some solace in their words as he sips from his mug, washing down the food. They were probably right; you were just off helping someone somewhere, but knowing that doesn't make his restless nights go by any easier, leaving him to toss and turn in his sleep without you.
It's not til three days go by without so much as a whisper of your whereabouts that he decides to go looking for you, finding one of your undershirts and stuffing the material into the pouch on the back of his belt. He goes out in search of Otto, hoping to find some information in regard to your whereabouts, but it's when he comes up empty in regard to your station that he really starts to panic. He informs the elder man that he'll be out for an unspecified amount of time and to make sure all missives are delivered to his desk upon his return, then storms off to the pier with a look something fierce in his eyes as he demands Obolus take him to where you disembarked. Obolus, not wanting to argue with a clearly pissed-off Clive, rows him to the destination.
You're distracted from your wallowing upon hearing a shrill howl in the distance. Quick to refocus, you swivel your head back and forth in all directions to try and determine the location of the sound. That's when you see it—a dark figure perched upon one of the nearby cliffs. The midnight sky shrouds the size and shape of the creature, though its piercing azure eyes remain distinct amongst the sea of black, piercing right through you from the tall height.
Just as quickly as you make eye contact with the creature, it lurches from its spot on the cliff, prowling toward you like a predator honing in on its next meal, sniffing as if it smells your fear and your very blood running cold. Only when it's within range of the fire's flame are you able to tell what lingers in the dark. A wolf. Its fur is as dark as a raven's feather, black like soot, and much different from the standard mix of greys and whites of the usual worgens. Rosaria was no stranger to wolves, but they were never of this magnitude; its body was almost double the size of the usual stray. You're confused as to what it was doing so far out from the greenery; was this a newly created breed? Made solely for the purpose of hunting lost damsels wandering the coast at night?
As it draws near, you're unable to look away, its eyes drawing you into a trance, captivating yet familiar, almost as if you've seen them before.
It snarls at you, its ears and lips drawing back to expose the glint of sharpened canines that await you, its tail sharp and stiff, a warning sign: DANGER! DANGER!
You scoot backward in the sand toward your sword, buried in the sand. The wolf is still approaching just as slowly, its bark and growls echoing off the ocean and ringing back into your ears. Was this how you were going to meet your end? Slaughtered and torn to shreds by a rouge wolf, becoming its dinner, never to be seen again while your corpse decays on an abandoned beach?
You feel the cold steel amongst the granules and unsheath your blade, drawing it slowly as you rise to your feet. You do your best to steady your nerves, your heart hammering in your chest so wildly that you're assured that the beast can hear its drum as well. Though skilled with a sword, the circumstances couldn't be more against your favor; the instability of the sand and poor lighting make it more likely that you'll topple over and impale yourself before ever slaying the creature.
It growls once more, rearing its hind legs, ready to pounce. You brace yourself for impact, taking your best stance as the wolf leaps into the air. You're knocked flat on your back on the bumpy terrain, your sword falling from your hand as the air is strangled from your lungs, your body aching from the collision. It stands over you now, nose to nose with the beast that'd be your undoing. Its drool leaks onto your face; puffs of air are exhaled and manifested into the ether as it breathes in and out. You clench your eyes shut as it leans closer, praying that your death will be swift when you feel...a lick?
The long, fleshy tongue makes a slobbery mess of your cheeks and face as the wolf wags its bushy tail back and forth. This was bizarre, but you'd much rather be covered in sloppy hound kisses than be torn to shreds, so you accept your strange fate while continuing to giggle.
"I never expected to make a friend all the way out here," you coo, giving your best baby voice as you scratch the hound behind the ears.
A few moments later, you're blinded by a bright, pale light, transforming the once yipping black wolf into...Clive? Or at least you think it's Clive. It looks like him, the figure possessing the same crystalline eyes and dark shaggy hair, yet he still looks vastly different, as if he were half-beast, retaining the increased height, bulk, and hair as he did in wolf form. The rounded, fluffy ears and sharpened fangs are still present as well. You don't even realize he's naked at first due to the amount of thick, coarse hair covering his body, only being able to tell when you catch a glimpse of the few more intimate scars that lay between the follicles, reflecting in the flame's light.
He falls to his hands and knees, scampering toward you, pulling you close by the arm for a chaste kiss.
"Ouch," you squeak, scuttling backward as something sharp pricks your skin. He's quick to pull away, and that's when you notice the claws extending from the tips of his fingers, curled and sharpened to a fine point.
"My apologies; I'm, uh, not used to touching people when I look like this." He reaches out to cup your face, frowning a little as you twitch backward at the sight of his large hand. His fingers are gentle as they caress the sensitive skin of your cheek and neck, not wanting to startle you further.
"What are you doing all the way out here? Where have you been? What if something happened to you? What if-?" He begins to question, losing himself in the possibility of what ifs
"Clive," you cut him off, raising your eyebrows to stare at him like he's just grown two heads. He tilts his head to the side, perplexed, while you ask, "Are you not going to explain what's going on with you?"
"You're... a beast."
He sighs, sitting back on his hind with a dejected posture. "This," he gestures up and down his body, "is what I was trying to protect you from."
His eye catches a glimmer upon your flesh, trailing from your bicep to your forearm.
"You're bleeding," he mutters, turning your arm in his grasp to get a better view.
"It's alright," you stammer, reaching up to apply pressure to the cut when he looms over you, extending his head and tongue toward the abrasion, lapping at it quickly. You're taken aback at first, quirking an eyebrow in his direction, but soon realize that this is his means of comforting you, in his own dog sort of way. His tongue also maintained its wolf-like qualities—long, pink, and rough—yet it didn't feel too unpleasant on the skin. The cool breeze against the wet saliva on your skin creates goosebumps along your body.
He continues to tend to your cut til he's assured the bleeding has stopped and the metallic tang no longer gracing his tastebuds. He pulls back, sitting on his rear once again. "You still haven't answered my question."
"You haven't answered mine. I've seen a lot of freaky things in my lifetime, Clive, but this...this requires an explanation."
A beat of silence passes as the two of you sit in front of the fire, illuminated in its orange haze. A small breeze of wind blows through the both of you, the moon and stars shine down from above.
He exhales defeatedly. "I'm... a werewolf."
You scoff, finding the words a bit silly coming out of his mouth. "I'm sorry, what?"
"It's true. I was turned that night at Phoenix Gate all those years ago. It was the only way I could've survived." He pauses, lowering his head and drawing his ears back once again. "I never found the person who turned me—I don't believe I ever will. Though sometimes I wonder if saving me was worth it, seeing as it turns me into a monster."
"Clive..."
He shakes his head, ruffling his fur, a toothy grin adorning his features. "Never mind that."
"Every full moon, I transform into this beast against my will. That's why I'm away so often. That and well..." His words trail off as his eyes make contact with yours across the fire, scanning your face and body.
"Well, what?"
"Nothing," he smiles, eyes softening as he continues to look at you. "Now it's your turn; what in Founder's name are you doing all the way out here?"
You chuckle timidly, heat flooding your face—the likes of which you hope he can't see as you scoot away from him slightly, wishing you could bury your head in the sand for reacting so poorly.
"It's silly... and dumb," you mumble, trying to wave him off, turning your back toward him in an attempt to hide any further embarrassment. He grabs your hands in his, the size of them eclipsing your own, while he pulls you closer to him.
"It's not dumb, not to me," he says, running a fur-covered finger up and down your cheek. "Besides, it can't possibly be any dumber than me turning into a wolf," he chuckles.
You sigh, closing your eyes in preparation. "I was getting frustrated with the lack of communication, so I decided to just..."
"Run away?"
"Aye." You hang your head low in shame, kicking up a cloud of dust from the sand with your toes, feeling stupid and childish for having reacted this way.
"I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. It wasn't fair to you."
"It's alright."
He cups your jaw, nudging your chin up between his grip so that you're both on eye level, his eyes much sharper than before. "It's not alright, love, we're a partnership. We're supposed to trust each other, and we can't do that if I'm not being honest with you. I'll do better from here on, alright? I promise."
You give him a sickly-sweet smile, nodding in agreement as he pulls you in for a sweet kiss.
"So how did you find me? I mean, I was hoping you would, but still, I'm curious."
"You really want to know? It's quite embarrassing."
"Now I most definitely want to know," you giggle, leaning toward him.
"Well, I uhm..." He becomes more bashful as he continues on. "I tracked your scent."
"I pulled one of your tunics from the laundry bin and used that to help me track you down."
"My scent?"
"Mhm," he grumbles, slowly leaning into you more and more, causing you to fall back on your hands as he draws near. "Your musk is very distinct. There's nothing else in Valisthea quite like it." He gets closer and closer, nudging his head under the skirt of your dress, getting incredibly close toward the apex of your thighs before taking a big whiff. "And oh, so addicting." Your eyelashes flutter in surprise, building heat throughout your body. This had to be some wolf thing, right? He never acted like this before.
You place your foot on his shoulder, pushing him back on his haunches, trying to shoo him away from under your dress with a subdued "Down boy."
He snarls faintly before wrapping his hand around your ankle and pulling you toward him, effectively dragging your body through the sand, scratching up your back, and getting the granules caught in your dress and hair. It'd take weeks for you to wash it all out.
He tugs on your leg til you're dangling in the air, holding you up as if you weigh nothing, yanking you higher and higher til your sweet cunt is pressed against his nose once more. He takes another huge whiff of your pussy and relishes in the scent that fills his nostrils. Your body contorts slightly, your abdomen tightening while you hold down the part of your dress that's fallen in your face, only to see him nosing at your underwear, licking his lips, and staring at you like you were a big piece of meat.
"I can smell you, you know," he whispers, licking a broad stripe against your folds through the gusset of your underwear. You can't help but thrash in the air, your back arching as the width of his tongue reaches every crevice of your cunt in one fell swoop. Oh, this was certainly different, but you liked it.
"I can smell your arousal, Founder, your scent is so addicting." He nuzzles into your pussy again, rubbing his nose back and forth over your clit through your underwear, grinning at your desperate mewls and whines.
"You smell so fucking good," he murmurs and delivers another broad lick to your panties, effectively soaking them with his drool. "And taste even better," he winks. "But your scent isn't the only thing I can sense. Your heart rate has increased quite significantly, as well as your breathing." Partly from fear but mostly from arousal.
another broad lick and a sniff
"You're probably debating whether or not it's okay to be attracted to me while I'm like this."
another lick
"Mmm, fuck," he growls as more of your essence pools in your knickers. "But don't worry, I can make the decision for the both of us." He gives an airy laugh.
another sniff
His claws graze the seam of your panties, slightly unraveling the stitching. "Please let me taste you," he pants. "Please don't deny me your sweet nectar."
"I've gone far too long without it," he mumbles as he begins to make out with your pussy through your underwear, while his claws start trailing over the rest of your body as you continue to hang in the air. Clive was never one to shy away from pleasuring you with his honeyed tongue, but this was a whole new level of desperation.
"Please," he pleads.
"Alright alright, just put me down. I'm starting to lose feeling in my legs." He grins and happily obliges, his tail wagging rapidly as he drops you slowly onto the sand by your ankle. You lean back on your elbows so as not to get any more sand in your hair, and spread your legs wide for him. He gets on his hands and knees, crawling over to you seductively before lifting the hem of your dress over your pelvis, exposing your soaking wet knickers to him once again.
He smiles down at you, admiring the view of your disheveled state while dragging a claw on your inner thigh, making you shiver before he tucks the nail into the crotch of your panties, tearing them straight off your cunt with little resistance. The fabric is left in tatters beside you when you gasp, your slick folds now fully exposed to the chilly evening air.
He groans as he lifts your hips into the air, throwing your thighs over his broad shoulders as he makes eye contact with your bare cunt, all wet, spread, and exposed just for him. Your bum is in the air slightly as he settles himself on his elbows, his large hands wrapping around the plush of your thighs, his fingers digging into the flesh slightly. He gets on eye level with your pussy, the hairs on your mound drenched from his salvia. You look so appetizing to him that he can't fight off the desire to sink into your wetness.
"Do you want to know the real reason I stayed away all this time?" He asks, bringing his mouth closer to your cunt, nibbling on your inner thigh with his teeth, causing a slight blood trail to trickle down from the skin.
You whimper but nod your head in response.
"Your scent tempts me like no other." His rough tongue laps up the blood spilled from the nick he created, leaving you writhing for more pleasure.
"It'd take everything in me not to mount you right where you lay and take you as my mate." You groan at that, causing a chuckle to escape him while he continues to nip and lick at the skin surrounding your pussy, neglecting where you need him most.
"Clive, please," you whine, having had enough of his teasing and desperately wanting him to push you over the edge with that sweet tongue of his, so after deciding that you've had enough, he gives you what you so desperately crave: a long swipe of his tongue from your entrance, all the way to your needy, swollen clit.
You arch your back while he groans at the taste. Something about being in this form enhances his senses and the pleasure he receives from pleasing you.
He gathers a pool of salvia behind his teeth and spits it on your cunt before he pulls you even further into his mouth, swirling the wetness all along your poor neglected pussy. The change in texture brings you heightened pleasure as his tongue drags along your clit over and over, making you mewl and whine in his hold.
Your hips begin to buck against his face, and he's gentle when he pulls the sensitive nub between his sharpened teeth. Your fingers find themselves in his shaggy hair, curling into the roots, where you give a slight tug, pulling him even closer into your cunt. He groans into your pussy as more of your arousal leaks from your quivering hole.
He detaches himself from your clit, moving down to your entrance, where he laps at the escaping juices. It's like a drug to him, one that he simply can't get enough of, so it comes as no surprise when he wiggles his tongue into your tight hole to collect even more of your flavor on his palette. He pushes the warm muscle further and further in, slurping up every last drop you provide, not letting a single one go to waste. It's such a foreign sensation, but you can't deny the pleasure you derive from it when he begins thrusting it in and out of you, effectively fucking you with his tongue.
"Fuck, Clive," you moan as his efforts hasten, greedy for more of your flavor.
Your hips continue to rut against his face, clit knocking against his nose with every buck upward. You're whining, whimpering, and writhing all over the place while his strong, calloused hands keep your hips pressed against his face. He takes over for you and grinds your pussy all over his face while continuing to tongue-fuck you as you're reduced to nothing but whimpers due to the sensations, your cunt beginning to pulsate around his warm muscle as the whiskers on his face tickle your clit in ways you've never felt before.
His rhythm against you is brutal; your legs are beginning to shake and your toes starting to curl. A slew of pleas fall from your lips, begging him to bring you to your sweet release, and he's always been one to please. He growls out "cum for me" before suckling your clit back between his lips, hard.
You wail loudly as you see white behind your eyes, your thighs squeezing around his head tight while continuing to tug on his hair, slowly bucking your hips as you continue to ride out the rest of your high.
Clive keeps up his efforts on your clit, making your hips jolt as he overstimulates your poor pussy. With a simple tap on the side of his face and a muffled "enough," he lowers you back down again, being sure to cover your exposed sex with the skirt of your dress once more.
"That was..." you begin to rave, lifting your head up to meet his eyes only for your attention to be drawn elsewhere, particularly toward the protrusion from his lower half that's now sticking straight in the air.
Heavens above, was that his cock?
Your eyes are diverted once again as he begins licking his chops, swirling his tongue all around where your wetness graced his face. Poor thing, he always did get unbearably horny when eating you out.
You reach out toward him, wanting to provide some relief, when he backs away, shuffling in the sand.
"You don't...you don't need to do that..."
"In fact, it's probably best that you didn't."
"Are you sure? It looks like it hurts..."
His cock looked a lot different than usual. It was angrier, meatier, thicker, longer, his whole shaft red in color instead of the pretty pale yellow tone you're used to, and it was hard, so incredibly hard, with precum leaking down onto the sand below. You've never had anything like it before, but you knew you wanted it, and you wanted it BAD.
"It's alright, I can take care of myself when I turn back, besides, if we do this, I won't be able to stop myself, and I- I don't want to hurt you." He attempts to cover himself up from your wandering eye, but that serves to only work against him as he whimpers every time he bumps into his erection, his teeth digging into his lower lip.
You crawl toward him slowly, your hands and knees sinking into the sand as you move forward. "I trust you, I know you won't hurt me." You settle between his legs, dense, dark, coarse hair covering the base of his cock. "Let me make you feel good too," you mumble, grabbing his shaft with your hand. It's hot to the touch, with way more veins, the base more rounded and bulbous than usual. You pump him up and down slowly as he mewls and growls against your touch.
"This is your last chance," he huffs. "I won't be able to hold myself back."
"I want you just like this, Clive," you lean in, pressing a wet kiss to his lips while you continually stroke him. "Don't hold yourself back," you whisper, smirking against him as the two of you kiss some more, both beginning to pant into the other's mouth as the excitement builds.
He emits a low growl and picks you up by your hips, planting you down on all fours in front of him. The hem of your dress is torn by his claws as he lifts it over your bum, your cheeks on full display. His hand comes down with a swift SWAT to your ass, leaving tiny abrasions on your skin from his nails. Your body propels forward from the impact as you squeal, your pussy starting to drool with arousal once again.
He leans himself over you; his broad body is heavy on your back as it casts a large shadow in the moonlight. You can feel all the hair that covers his legs as he presses into you, the follicles tickling the back of your thighs as he lines himself up with your entrance.
"I'd much rather take you on your back, spread you nice and wide, have you laid out all pretty underneath me like you always seem to enjoy," he murmurs in your ear, trailing his hand from your thigh to knead at your breast through your clothes.
"But unfortunately, your choice of locale for throwing this little tantrum prohibits that sort of thing."
"We wouldn't want sand to get where it doesn't belong, hm?" He removes his hand from your breast and interlocks his fingers over top of yours, where they've sunk into the sand. Though his hand is so large, he might as well be clenching his fist around your own.
He sniffs your nape, then presses a kiss to the back of your neck. "I'll be as gentle as I can til you're ready for more, alright?"
"I'll make this as pleasurable for you as possible," he coos. When he notices your body shivering, though he's unsure if it's due to the cold or nerves, he runs his free hand up and down your side in a soothing manner, in an attempt to help calm you a bit. He plants a sweet kiss and a lick on your cheek, and it manages to pull a short giggle from you, which he smiles at.
"I'm ready."
With your fingers still interlocked together, he carefully begins to insert himself, and it takes all of his will to not buck his hips and go balls deep inside you. The hug of your warm, wet walls on his weepy, swollen cock is almost too much for him to bear.
You bite your lower lip and grunt as he pushes in, feeling like you're being torn open from the inside out. He can sense your discomfort; your heart rate skyrocketing due to the pain. He's quick to move his other hand from your side to your clit, rubbing smooth, soft circles on the bundle of nerves with the pad of his fingers.
His ears pull back at your discomfort, and he nuzzles his nose into your neck further, trying to soothe you through more licks and kisses to your neck.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he whimpers, and your heart all but breaks at the sound.
The ministrations on your clit start to overtake the burn of your nethers and you encourage Clive to keep pushing in further. It's a prolonged effort, with him moving in short increments every so often til he was as deep as you could allow, stopping just short of the bulb inflating the base. He was already quite well-endowed, having little to no trouble bringing you to sweet bliss on his cock, but this was a whole new world. His cock felt like it now resided in your guts and that your guts were now in your longs. His girth, the likes of which you've never felt before. Your cunt strangles him with everything it has; every bump against your ridges fills him with pleasure.
Once he's as deep as he can go with minimal resistance, he brings you over the edge by playing with your clit. Sadly, there's not enough prep in the world that would make taking him an easier feat, but he's hoping that the now relaxed muscles in your cunt will make the whole experience more pleasurable.
He continues to coo and coddle you as you come down from your second orgasm of the night. The squirm of your smaller form against his fills him with amusement. There's something so primal about him mounting you like this, caressing your soft skin while making sure to comfort you through lots of kisses and nuzzles as he whispers words of affection in your ear. You're pretty sure your cheek is going to be rubbed raw by the end of this.
"You're such a good girl," he murmurs in your ear. "You're doing so good for me."
He stalls his hips while you gather yourself, collecting your thoughts as you try to bring yourself back into the moment. It's only when you give the go-ahead that he starts to move, taking care to make sure that this part is done with caution as well until you're accustomed to any sort of rhythm with his size.
Your fists dig deep into the shore as the veins of his angry cock drag along every single bump and groove inside you.
"Fuuuuuuuuck," you growl between your teeth, squeezing your eyes shut tight at his slow and methodical thrusts. You knew he was just making sure you didn't get hurt, but it felt like him going this slow and deliberate might actually kill you.
"Clive, you can move a little faster," you pant.
"Are you sure? I don't want to-"
"Yes, I'm sure just-" you clench down on him harder, hoping that will drive the point further. "Just please..."
"Alright then," he mumbles, settling his face on your shoulder, his big, bulky body still encompassing you. He moves his hand down to your hip, where his thumb draws soothing patterns into your skin while his hips start to rock back and forth. It's a slow rhythm at first, which admittedly you're thankful for, knowing that you'd probably regret telling him to go all out once you're forced to waddle to the infirmary and explain to Tarja why your nethers looked the way they did.
It takes everything in you not to groan out in pleasure, and after noticing this, of course, Clive goads, gaining a more steady rhythm, his pace quickening with every passing second.
"There's no one else here but you, me, and the stars, love."
"You can be as loud as you want." After heeding his proposal, you let out a loud moan into the open air, which echoes softly over the ocean.
"That's it," he praises, licking a stripe on your neck. It's not long before you feel the coil winding in your belly once more, signaling your impending orgasm. You attempt to reach down toward your clit when Clive smacks your hand away, replacing your fingers with his own as he rubs fast circles on the pearl.
He's grunting and huffing in tandem with your moans, the two of you fucking like wild animals as his hips snap in quick succession against yours. His cock glides against the soft, spongey spot deep inside you over and over with no end in sight. Your toes curl as your cunt squeezes down on him even harder than before, screwing your eyes tight as you brace yourself for the impact of your oncoming orgasm. The weight of his cock makes you see stars as you reach ecstasy once more.
"Fuck," he groans against you, digging his face deeper into your neck, inhaling the scent dripping off you from your sweat, your body lunging back and forth as he continues to fuck you. You presumed this would be the finale, but soon realize you're dead wrong as he grabs you by both hips again and sits back on his heels, effectively spearing you on his cock as your legs are spread wide over his thick, hairy thighs.
His claws come out to shred at the material of your bodice, ruining the fabric of your dress and making it so your tits bounce wildly with every powerful thrust he delivers underneath you.
Your body is akin to puddy at this point, your head resting against his shoulder as he bounces you up and down on his cock. His fingers come down to pinch at your nipples as you writhe against his body, the cool evening air making them hard as rocks while he plays with the rest of your body to his own enjoyment.
It's not long after that you find yourself on the brink again as you succumb to becoming his personal fleshlight, his thrusts unrelenting while he whispers more sweet nothings into your ear, his fat cock bullying your sopping hole. The crashing waves are the only sound capable of drowning out the squelch of your cunt from him fucking into you so well.
You cum again with a loud cry, your body falling against him as you fully lose yourself in pleasure, becoming weak and limp in his arms while he holds you upright.
"Think you can handle one more?" he smirks.
You nod and mumble incoherently while he stops thrusting, positioning himself on your bedroll to lay fully on his back.
Your legs are spread as wide as possible over his lower torso and hips, your sloppy cunt exposed for all the stars and heavens to see.
You tilt your head slightly when Metia and the full moon come back into view. You mouth a breathless "thank you" to them, as it seems your prayers for having Clive come to your aid were answered.
In your delirious state, he guides your hand down to your lower abdomen, right where his cock lies inside you. He then takes his other hand to the back of your head and eases your neck upward to look at the protrusion, his cock causing your abdomen to bulge out. You go a little cross-eyed at the sight, and he takes your hand under his and presses down on the bulge, which draws out a low whine from you both.
He snarls, "Can you feel how deep I am inside you?" You nod haphazardly, not able to do much else. He chuckles at your disposition and begins to slowly thrust back from underneath you.
"By the end of this, I think you'll be molded to the shape of my cock, your cunt ruined for anyone else." He laughs while you whine and writhe; his slow, languid thrusts not enough to drive you over the edge.
"Awwww, sweet little thing just wants to cum again, huh?" He mutters in your ear, smirking as you mewl, your pussy clenching down on him while he laps up your sweat.
"Alright then, darling, I'll give you what you want," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your head before increasing his rhythm once more, his bulky arm coming down to scoop underneath your knees and pull your legs toward your chest, allowing him to reach even deeper inside you.
You do something unexpected; in your bliss-induced delirium, you bring his hand that's pushing down on your belly up toward your throat and wrap his thick fingers around your neck slightly. He huffs down at you, his body still hard at work, pounding into your sopping cunt.
"You want to be choked now, do you? This is new. Are you sure this is what you want, sweetheart? I don't want to hurt you." You nod as enthusiastically as your aching body will allow, closing your hands overtop his once again.
"Alright, alright, I get it," he chortles, slowly but surely pressing down on the sides of your neck, reducing the blood flow.
From behind, he starts foaming at the mouth, his thrusts getting more brutal both in pace and intensity. How he managed to last this long is beyond you.
He releases his hold on your legs and moves down to rub quick circles on your clit, his other hand squeezing down tighter as you get closer to release. Your hands come up to squeeze your own nipples, and the edges of your vision get hazy as you start to lose consciousness and feel extreme bliss.
"Cum for me," is whispered in your ears, and all of a sudden, your brain and lungs are flooded with oxygen as you experience the most intense orgasm of your life, letting out nothing short of a silent scream as your body spasms and arches wildly. The rush to both your head and cunt is greater than anything you've experienced before.
Clive keeps thrusting into you as he drives himself toward his own release, the bulb on his cock continuing to knock into you, ever so slightly entering you with every movement.
"Clive, w-what is that?" You rasp, your voice shaky from its extended use over the course of the night. He takes on a much more shy attitude after hearing your question, continuing to groan.
"It's m-my knot."
"Your what?"
"It's a wolf thing; it helps keep me inside after I... you know..."
"It helps with mating, but you don't have to take it if you don't want to."
You shake your head back and forth. "No, I want to. I want to take it."
"Fuck," he growls. "Are you sure?"
"YES," you wail.
"As you wish, darling."
It's a few short, sloppy thrusts later when Clive sinks his teeth into your shoulder, grunting and howling as he stuffs you full, pushing his knot fully inside you while he goes balls deep into your cunt, your pussy swelling and stretching to accommodate the excess girth.
"Heavens above," you cry, your back arching toward the sky as the tip of his cock kisses your cervix, ropes upon ropes of his warm spend shooting deep inside you as he's milked for all he's worth.
You both slump against each other in the aftermath, his hands coming up to caress your body. "We're going to be stuck like this for a while."
It's sometime later that you're snuggled up on Clive's body as you lay both bare underneath the stars together. His huge body keeps you warm while you twirl your fingers into his chest hair, his mouth coming down to press multiple kisses to the crown of your head.
"So you won't fully transform back until sunrise?"
"Correct."
"And you've been like this for over fifteen years?"
"Mhm," he mumbles.
"Where do you go for those three days? Clearly, you're not at the hideaway."
"Do you promise not to laugh at me?"
"Who do you take me for? Of course, I won't laugh at you."
He sighs, trailing his fingers up and down your back. "I actually go back to Rosalith. I've got a little den set up there."
"How adorable," you tease, making a kissy face at him. "You'll have to take me to go see it sometime."
"I don't think so," he smirks.
"Wha- why not?" You huff, an adorable pout forming on your face.
"Let's just say that I really wouldn't be able to hold myself back in that instance, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there." He presses a sweet kiss on the tip of your nose.
"Okay, okay, last question. Did you really mean all that filth you spewed about why you disappeared all those times?"
"It's partially true. All my senses are heightened, and you truly do become irresistible to me. Not that I'm any less attracted to you normally, but it's...different." He pulls you closer to his chest.
"Though I suppose I was mostly afraid that you'd look at me differently and that you wouldn't want to be with me anymore."
"Clive, I've watched you prime into Ifrit with my very own eyes; do you truly believe that I'd leave you because you transform into a hound?"
"Wolf," he corrects.
"Same difference," you chuckle, raising your head from his chest to peer into his eyes. A lovesick, dopey grin is plastered all over his face when he looks at you, despite his words of insecurity.
"I'm with you no matter what, Clive. No matter the challenges or struggles you may face. I'll always stand by you. I love you, and that will forever remain true," you murmur, pressing a kiss to his lips, and you swear you can see his pupils double in size as he repeats the phrase back to you.
You rest your head back on his chest once again, enjoying the feeling of contentment before speaking out, "We're going to have a lot of explaining to do back at the hideaway, won't we?"
Note : Mild spoilers if you haven’t played the game, this is focused on Verso’s ending.
-ANGST-
dividers by : @saradika-graphics
The mysterious man you’ve grown very close to, the stranger you've grown fond of. Everything about Verso, everything he told you was a complete lie. Stumbling on a firewalk of lies, not knowing that he was planning to destroy the canvas all because he was tired of living in a false world.
Through the portal you went through, a small boy with no face was painting the canvas and Verso asked him kindly to stop so the whole world of fantasy would be erased but Maelle wouldn’t allow it. You came to realise that the small boy was a fragment of Verso’s soul. Everything was becoming clear as the truth you didn’t want to face pierced you like a dagger. You couldn’t stand there any longer, watching the two fight until you tried to intervene but Verso pushed you aside not wanting you to get hurt.
You begged them to stop fighting over this, thinking of another solution to this situation but how could there possibly be when you’re living in a fake reality filled with lies and deception ? What if you want to stay in that make believe world and never leave?
“No! Verso! Stop-” You were about to hold out your hand to prevent Verso from doing any more harm but your body froze with heartbreak. Maelle was slowly beginning to gommage, a whirl of petals floating in the air. You broke out in a fall of tears and covered your mouth in distraught witnessing this. Verso reassured her that everything is going to be okay, that she will be fine. Erased from the canvas, the rage and anger consumed you. Verso turned to face you with guilt and regret in his eyes, you stormed over and gave him a slight forceful push, “HOW COULD YOU FUCKING DO THIS?!” He knew you would personally react this way, angered by his actions.
“None of this is real, (Y/n). We have to accept the truth and face reality. I’m not Verso and you’re not really (Y/n). We-”
You gripped his shoulders and looked desperately into his eyes, “No! No! I know you, Verso! What we had was real! Our feelings! I know this world isn’t real but everything-”
Verso pulled away from you in frustration, “You don’t fucking get it, do you? All this…is an illusion. I don’t want you to stay here, (Y/n). This is no place for you...” He cupped the side of your face, pleading with you to go back to the real world.
Leaning into his touch without stepping away, how you missed being touched by his calloused hand, “I don’t want to leave this canvas ... .I-I want to stay here…with you…” Verso gave a sad smile to your thoughts, pulling you closely to his strong arms and kissed you deeply without hesitation. This time, it was real and you began to realize that it was for the better, knowing that you will never ever see him again . Your body began to give in, slowly fading away as Verso held you one last time, “I want you to forget me, (Y/n)....and live your life…your real life outside without me…”
You gave a slow nod, your hands crumbling into solid dust with petals floating around your degrading body, “If this is what you want, Verso…then I’ll support your decision…” your smile of sorrow and grief caused a crack in his heart, he held you tightly until you were fully out of his reach. Back to the harsh reality as he watches you disappear from the canvas forever…
A bittersweet goodbye was muttered from his bloodied lips, “Goodbye, my love…”
════════════════════════════
Epilogue
|| One year later…||
A successful-accompolished woman had finished cleaning up at her own small flower shop before closing up in the middle of the night. It began to rain lightly but not too heavily. Not many people were shopping outside due to the door weather. Back at home, she settled into your bed and began to sketch without any thought on what you’re planning to draw inside her journal. She tilted her head and placed your drawing in front of you on your lap with your head facing downwards, examining the portrait of a mysterious man with white streaks in his hair. An old battlescar on his left eye…
“...Who the hell is this? And….why does he look so familiar?” The flower lady inquired, putting her pencil down to the side as she took a closer look at the portrait of that man that she just randomly sketched out of the blue…
The flower lady’s eyes widened in shock, her head filled with questions, “...W-what…?
END
a/n - So I've started playing it two weeks ago and finished it three days later, I'm replaying it since I'm starting to be addicted to the game. The story, the soundtrack, everything in it was incredibly beautiful. I love it and I'm glad to experience it for the first time.
Lune became my favourite character but somehow my heart was set on Verso who was written so beautifully and there are some people hating on him due to his betrayal and lies but he had a reason for his past actions. Istfg most people can's stand a well written complex character. Like have you even play the game yourself or watch the gameplay even??
Now excuse me for my ranting ; from when I first started the game, I didn't want to like Verso at first due to his secret motivation and the truth that he's been hiding from others but once I got more into his side of the story and the secrets that he doesn't reveal ; I began to have a soft spot for Verso and I felt terribly sorry for him since he had a rough life living inside a canvas, a fake world that he doesn't want to live in. Verso somehow gives me a morally grey character vibes, he does terrible things but he has a good reason for that. That's why I fell in love with Verso, he may look closed off but deep down he was trying to do what's best for his family.
I'm really sorry for my ranting, hope you love this fanfiction I wrote and I'm also sorry there weren't much proofread on this. I haven't been writing a lot due to the lack of inspiration and my mental health.
Take care of yourselves and stay tuned for more <3
